“I’m sorry about your mother,” Sara said, mastering her voice. “But I had nothing to do with—”
But as the paramedics rushed in and Ivy was carried away on a stretcher, the girl reached up and grabbed Sara’s wrist. Her grip was iron.
Sara had one second to decide: villain or savior.
You think you’ve won, Sara. But I learned from the best. —C.
The girl smiled. “I’m the new one.”
Footsteps. Heavy. Concerned.
