I follow Raya and the maid down the corridor quickly, making sure I d
quickly down the corridor, my steps echoing behind theirs.
My chest is tight. My anger is hot. But beneath all of that, there is something worse—fear. Fear sitting in my throat like a rock.
The moment we step into Raya's room, the air shifts. Everything is scattered—pillows on the floor, drawers ripped open, clothes thrown everywhere. The mirror is cracked. The bed sheet is half-torn.
It looks like a storm tore through here.
Kimmie gasps softly. I do not. I feel rage instead.
"Bring hot water," I say sharply. "And a clean towel."
Kimmie nods and runs out.
Raya turns her head toward me slowly, breathing hard. Her voice is weak but sharp.
"When did you become a doctor?" she asks. "Or a maid in this place?"
Her sarcasm cuts sharper than the claw marks on her neck. I ignore it.
"Who did this to you?" I demand, stepping closer. "How did this happen? Why is your room like this? What are these injuries—"
