It's two in the morning. you silently slips out of bed and retrieves the small bag she had hidden earlier from the closet. She doesn't take a single one of the brand-name items Shuya has given her over the past six months. All she needs is a little cash and her freedom. Holding her sneakers, she heads for the front door, careful not to make a sound. She reaches for the doorknob—just then.

From the living room behind her, a low, sweet voice cuts through the darkness. Shuya is sitting deep in the sofa, a half-drunk glass of whiskey in his hand. His sharp, glittering eyes pin you in place.