Page 1 of Damian
Prologue
Ruby
The street was nearly empty, just the faint hum of traffic a few blocks over and the sound of my sneakers tapping the cracked sidewalk. I tugged my hoodie tighter around me and kept humming with my earbuds in, scrolling through the text Morgan had sent not ten minutes ago.
Home in twenty, kiddo. Don’t eat all the cookies before I get there.
I smiled, tucking the phone back in my pocket. She always called me kiddo, even though I’d been insisting I was sixteen—basically an adult—since my birthday last month.
A van rolled past, slow, its headlights washing me in white. I glanced up, annoyed. When it braked at the corner, a prickle of unease slid down my spine.
Don’t be paranoid, Ruby. It’s just a van.
But then it backed up.
I froze.
The side door screeched open, and two men spilled out, moving with sharp purpose. Not drunk. Not lost. Not safe.
“Hey!” I shouted, yanking my earbuds free. My phoneslipped from my pocket and clattered against the pavement, Morgan’s name glowing on the cracked screen.
A hand clamped around my arm, yanking me off balance. I kicked, screamed, and clawed at him, but he was huge, his grip iron. The second man shoved a cloth against my mouth. Bitter chemical fumes rushed into my nose, down my throat, and my scream faltered.
No. Morgan. Please—
The world tilted, blurring. My phone’s glow was the last thing I saw before darkness swallowed me whole.
1
Morgan
Ruby should’ve been home by now.
I paced the length of my living room for the fifth time, my bare feet catching on the worn rug, phone clutched tight in my hand. She always texted when she was running late. Always.
The last message from her sat on my screen like a taunt.
Be home in ten. Don’t worry.
But it had been nearly an hour.
I dialed her again—voicemail. I tried to tell myself she’d gotten distracted, maybe stopped at the corner store, maybe lost track of time. But the unease in my chest had teeth, and it was chewing right through me.
Then the call came.
Not from Ruby. From an unknown number.
I answered on the first ring. “Hello?”
A pause. Then a man’s voice, smooth and cold. “Ms. Tate. We have your sister.”
The world narrowed to that single sentence. My knees went weak. “What—what do you mean? Where is she? Is she hurt?”
“She’s alive. For now. If you want her to stay that way, you’ll do exactly as we say.”
I tried to keep my voice steady, but it cracked anyway. “Please, just—just tell me what you want.”
He chuckled, low and amused, like I’d told him a joke. “It’s not whatIwant, Ms. Tate. It’s whatyouwrote. That little book of yours brushed too close to reality. You know things you shouldn’t. And now, you’re going to tell us how.”
