Chapter 42 The Performance

• The four women in blue didn’t answer. Their expressions were eerily neutral as they advanced toward her.
• “No—wait! I’m not going anywhere!” Sarah scrambled back, her palms scraping against the cold, glossy floor. But there was nowhere to run. No doors behind her, no weapons, no miracle.
• She wished—desperately—that this was just a nightmare. That she’d wake up in Vincent’s arms. Or even on Keisha’s couch with a bottle of wine and a silly rom-com playing in the background. Anything but this.