Chapter 1 Chapter 1

The cheap tablet flickered in the dayroom of the Oregon State Mental Health Center.

I watched Chloe, my sister, on the grainy livestream of her simple backyard wedding.

Her smile was a burst of sunlight, even through the poor connection.

Suddenly, a woman, face contorted in a grotesque mask of chemical burns, stumbled into the frame.

She lunged towards Chloe, clawing at the air.

"You did this to me, Chloe!" she shrieked, her voice a raw wound. "You stole Mark, and then you melted my face!"

Chloe stood frozen, her white dress a stark contrast to the intruder's ravaged appearance.

Mark, Chloe's fiancé, a young entrepreneur with a jaw always tight, exploded.

He didn't ask. He didn't wait.

His hand cracked across Chloe's face.

A gasp rippled through the small gathering in the livestream.

"You vicious bitch!" Mark spat, his handsome features twisted. "I knew you were trouble. You're poison."

Chloe cradled her cheek, tears welling. "Mark, I don't know her! I didn't do anything!"

"Shut up!" He grabbed her arm, yanking her forward. "This wedding is over. You're going somewhere to get your head straight, to learn some goddamn decency."

He shoved her towards two burly men I didn't recognize. His private security, probably.

"Jessica recommended a place," Mark snarled, more to himself than to Chloe. "A farm. They'll purify you."

The livestream cut out.

My world went silent, except for the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above.

Chloe.

My Chloe.

My hand tightened on the tablet, the plastic creaking.

Days bled into a gray fog.

Then, Mom's call.

Her voice was a thin, broken wire.

"Emily... Chloe... she's gone."

Gone?

"The farm... they said she... she had an accident." Mom's words were choked with sobs. "She was hurt badly. They didn't call a doctor in time."

My breath hitched.

"I went to the police, Emily. I tried to see Mark. His men... they threw me out. They hit me."

The line went dead in my ear.

Chloe, dead.

A cold, black fire ignited in my chest.

During the afternoon therapy session, a new, young aide, barely out of college, fumbled with the medication cart.

His name tag read 'Kevin.' He was careless, always looking at his phone.

I moved.

My arm snaked around Kevin's throat, pulling him tight against me. The metal cart clattered, pills scattering like confetti.

He gasped, clawing at my arm.

"Keys," I whispered, my voice flat. "And the code for the main door."

His eyes bulged. He choked out the numbers.

I pressed harder. "Now the release form. Sign it. Temporary discharge. Doctor's approval."

He was shaking, but he scribbled a signature on a blank form I'd palmed from the unattended nurse's station earlier.

The supervising physician, Dr. Albright, rushed over, alerted by the commotion.

His face was pale.

"Emily, what are you doing?"

I held Kevin tighter. His face was turning purple.

"Sign it, Doctor," I said, my voice a low growl. "Or he stops breathing."

Dr. Albright's hand trembled as he snatched the form and scrawled his name.

I released Kevin. He crumpled to the floor, gasping.

I walked out of the Oregon State Mental Health Center, the signed paper clutched in my hand.

The cool Oregon air hit my face.

It smelled like rain and revenge.