A P

polite term for th

as little more than a closet. It had a small bed, a rickety wardrobe, and a single

when a voice dripped wit

t too com

her, from her perfectly styled hair to the cruel twist of her lips. She held up her phone, the scree

this sham doesn't make you one of us," s

from the novel that Jaclyn was shallow and stupid, a mouthpie

n love with Seraphina Sinclair. Everyone knows it. S

temptuous sniff,

echoing the finality of m

. It was Laura, my adoptive mother, d

ok in the shabby room. She pulled me into a hug. "I brought you so

led with worn clothes, a small bundle of c

Laura's affection was transactional, I knew that. But s

," I whispered,

ted, becoming just a little too casual. "So... has Draven b

ng in the air,

sy," I said, pulling away. "I'm t

she masked it quickly. She gave me anoth

box. It belonged to Sarah, my birth mother. Inside, beneath a tangle

age. I ran my fingers over it,

Cora Melton but o

nd that should have been fatal. I remembered the scent of antiseptic and blood, the glint

n of a mission accomplished. I remembered the complex formulas of nerve agen

y my biological mother, the mother of this body. She was a healer, a student of ancien

considered impossible. I had neutralized entire squads

ding across my face. My reflection in the grimy wind

curse. It was

again. I looked at the round face

way. Scars could be t

when you were al

My starting capital. I hid the notebook and the jewelry b

body was weak, neglected. That w

y eyes, but my mind was racing.

ne: su

o: get

: make the