PART 2: Mrs. Ellen’s hand flew to her throat, her eyes widening as she stared at the screen

“Mom?” I whispered.

“I’m here, Lucia,” she sobbed. “I’m right here. We’re coming to get you.”

I turned away from the gurney, away from the syringes, and away from the life of Valentina Rhodes. As I walked through the hidden passage and out into the cool night air of New York, the first thing I noticed wasn’t the sirens or the flashing lights.

It was the smell of the air. It didn’t smell like clinical alcohol.

It smelled like rain.

And for the first time in two years, I didn’t feel sleepy at all.

I walked toward the gates, my bare feet hitting the pavement, each step a reclamation. I was Lucia Armenta. I was the girl who woke up.

And I was going to make sure that the name Valentina Rhodes was buried so deep that even Marcus, in his empty, hollow mind, would never find it again.