PREVIEW

... from the outside, as if I was the danger, not the family of sociopaths on the other side.

The room was... well, "horrible" was a kind word. It was a tiny, cold attic space with a sloping roof I couldn’t even stand up straight in. The bed was a lumpy cot, the blanket was a rag, and the decor was dust, dust, and more dust.

I sat on the cot, my dress still damp and reeking of mutt-stink, and finally let my brain process.

Okay. I am Primrose Thistle. I am twenty years old. I ...

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