Chapter 15 · Mom Left a Matchbox

The thing around Nora's ankle tightened.

She hit the marble floor hard enough to bite her tongue. Blood filled her mouth. Around her, people screamed and backed away from the black hole splitting the lobby tiles, but Nora barely heard them. The grip under the floor dragged her one inch closer.

Caden caught her wrist with both hands.

"Nora. Look at me."

"Let go."

"Not happening."

The floor gave another violent shudder. A crack shot beneath the reporters' feet. Cameras dropped. Someone fired a gun, and the shot slammed into the ceiling instead of whatever had Nora trapped.

Caden yanked her toward him.

The thing below pulled back.

For one awful second, Nora hung between them, one hand locked in Caden's grip and one ankle caught by something cold, wet, and strong enough to crush bone.

Then the speakers overhead crackled.

"Bring her down."

Nora stopped fighting.

She knew that voice.

Not from the screen. Not from some distorted recording buried in Cross Tower's security system.

From the kitchen of a house that had burned down ten years ago. From a woman humming while she packed Milo's lunch.