The rain hit the kitchen window in steady, heavy slaps.

I was drying a porcelain teacup when the front door rattled.

It wasn’t a knock, but a heavy, dragging slide against the wood.

I dropped the towel and reached the hallway in three strides.

When I pulled the heavy oak door open, the yellow porch light cut through the dark.

Clara collapsed forward into my arms.

Her coat was soaked, cold and heavy against my chest.

Under her left eye, a dark purple swelling had already shut the lid.

A thin line of dark blood ran from her hairline, mixing with the cold rain on her cheek.

“Clara,” I whispered, holding her up by her waist.

“I had to leave, Mom,” she breathed, her voice barely a rasp.

“Julian,” I said.

It wasn’t a question.

She didn’t answer, her body going completely limp in my grip.

I managed to get her into the passenger seat of my sedan.

The drive to County General took twelve agonizing minutes.

The windshield wipers squeaked rhythmically against the glass, clearing the sheets of water.

I kept one hand on her knee, feeling her shiver under the damp wool of her coat.

She kept her eyes closed, her breathing shallow and uneven.

In the emergency room, the air smelled of harsh bleach and old coffee.

Two nurses in green scrubs immediately wheeled her behind the double doors.

I sat on a cracked vinyl chair, staring at the dried blood on my palms.

The Thorne family had always been powerful.

I knew Julian’s mother, Eleanor, would already be looking for her.

Gareth, Julian’s reckless brother, was probably driving the streets right now.

An hour passed before the swinging double doors pushed open.

Dr. Rios walked toward me, pulling off his blue latex gloves.

His face was tight, his dark eyes tired under the fluorescent lights.

“How is she?” I asked, standing up so fast my knees clicked.

“She has a mild concussion and three cracked ribs,” Dr. Rios said.

“But that isn’t what concerns me most right now, Madeline.”

I braced myself, my fingers curling into the fabric of my trousers.

“What is it?”