I didn’t shift. I didn’t complain about the cuffs cutting off the circulation to my wrists.
I stared out the wire-mesh window, watching the blurred neon signs of the city bleed through the raindrops, streaking across the glass in a bizarre, almost terrifying way.
My mind felt like a perfectly calibrated machine.
The initial shock of the betrayal had entirely evaporated, replaced by a cold, surgical hyperfocus.
My parents and Harper had orchestrated a physical frame job, relying on the blunt-force mechanics of the criminal justice system to crush me
