Prologue

Theo Glass

“I’m so close to figuring it out.”

My sister sat in the middle of an explosion of papers, arranged like rays of sunshine around her. Whenever she latched onto a new obsession, she always got that intense light in her eyes—but this time, that glimmer worried me.

“Why has this consumed you?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe. “I’ve never seen you this focused on anything.”

Em sighed and ran a hand through her freshly styled waves of brown hair, the kind she only got for special occasions. Maybe she had a date. “Theo, these people are monsters, and they’re ruining lives.”

“Yeah, but why make it your personal mission to bring them down?” I pressed. “It sounds dangerous.”

She tapped on an old, dog-eared volume of Edgar Allan Poe’s works, clearly set aside away from the mess of papers. She carried that book around with her everywhere. Another one of her obsessions. “Because deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before. Sometimes you have to stare into the darkness to find the truth. If no one else is willing to do it, then I will.”

I arched a brow. “You and Mr. Poe.” Despite my teasing, I couldn’t hide my concern. We’d been through hell together; I wanted her safe, not tangling with criminals. “Just promise you’ll be careful.”

Her gaze softened. “I will. Look—” She fanned out a few pages covered in coded names and rumors. “I found out the group calls itself ‘Pressure Point,’ but I still haven’t nailed down who’s in charge. Once I figure that out, the entire organization should topple.”

I studied the corkboard she’d pinned to the wall—fragments of threatening letters, news snippets about a nefarious criminal group, a handful of cryptic references. My stomach twisted. “I hate this for you. Feels like a loaded gun, pointed in your direction.”

Em placed her hand over mine. “We’ve survived worse. Trust me.” She said it with the same fierce protectiveness she’d shown me since we were kids—like I was the one who needed saving. “Just have faith.”

I nodded slowly. “Okay. But remember, I’ve got your back. Always.”

She smiled, the kind that lit up a room. “That goes both ways.”

Still, that kernel of fear ate away at my core. There was something she wasn’t telling me. A reason why she was so invested in this. It felt like she was racing against time. But why?

Rain battered the windows with a fury that matched the panic rising in my chest. I’d just come back from a night drinking at the bars. I had been looking for a hook-up and found one in the bathroom stall. It was fun, took the edge off, let me relax a bit.

But the second I got home I could feel something was off. It was a gut instinct that rang warning bells louder than the sirens that wailed nearby. I was fumbling for my keys when I noticed the apartment door was half-open—Em’s handbag dropped by the entry, her shoes haphazardly kicked off.

She never left anything lying around. She was always yelling at me to keep things clean. And she’d never leave the door open like this.

“Em?” My voice echoed in the silence as I stepped inside, heart thudding.

No answer.

A single lamp glowed in the living room.

That’s when I saw her.

No, not her.

Her corpse.

She wasn’t there anymore. She was gone. Em was dead.

My sister hung from the ceiling, a rope fixed around her neck. Her face slack, eyes half-lidded, feet dangling. The scene was so wrong that my brain refused to process it. I’d walked into a sick stage play. A director would soon yell ‘cut!’ and everything would return back to normal. My sister would open her eyes, she’d wave this all away, she’d, she’d, she’d.

She’d never come back.

“Em!” I choked out her name, lurching forward. My hands trembled as I reached for her, desperate to find a pulse, any sign of life. She was cold. Far too cold. I lifted her body, easing the strain around her neck, hugging her to me. Crying. Shouting.

She’d have never done this. Why would she do this? Em was always so full of life. She’d helped me survive so fucking much, she’d survived it with me.

I stumbled back, grief seizing my lungs in a vice. On the table nearby, something caught my eye: a crumpled note typed out on regular printer paper.

Rubbing tears from my cheeks, I picked up the note, my hand shaking far too much to even read it. I stumbled. Leaned against the wall. My stomach twisted, ready to spill out all the drinks I had onto the floor.

Theo—

I’m sorry. I can’t fix the mess I made or stop the threats. It’s better this way. I dug too deep into Pressure Point, and now I can’t see another way out. I got caught up. They have blackmail on me. Please forgive me.

—Em

My jaw clenched. Even as I read her words, it felt off. This wasn’t her. Or maybe it was. This was shock. It was monstrous. It wasn’t real.

Nothing made sense.

And my sister continued to hang from the ceiling. Her hair still looking as fresh as it had a week earlier, a contrast against her pale skin and blue lips.

She’d been determined to expose them, not surrender to them. My heart pounded at the discrepancy.

I blinked through the tears, scanning the room. The stool she used to stand on was directly underneath her. It hadn’t been tipped over, it hadn’t fallen. If she had been kicking out when she fell off it, then it should have fallen.

And why had she left the door open? Was she hoping someone else would find her? Save me from the trauma? Save me from this horrible nightmare?

No. She’d never want me to walk in on this. Why would she do this? Did they really have something on her? Why? Why?

Why?!

The sorrow in my chest sharpened, twisting into fury. They’d gone too far. My hands balled into fists, the paper crinkling in my grip. She deserved better than this.

I carefully lowered her body, my tears falling onto her cold shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered through clenched teeth. “I should’ve kept you safe. I should’ve?—”

Thunder boomed outside, as if echoing my rage. Pressure Point. They’d taken my sister from me, stolen her light. And if there was someone orchestrating all of this from the top—I would find them. I would ensure every member paid, piece by bloody piece.

Lightning flashed through the room as I pressed my forehead to hers. In that moment I made a promise. I wouldn’t rest. Not until I ripped Pressure Point apart. Not until I climbed through their ranks and discovered who was truly calling the shots.

I’d make them pay. All of them.

I closed my eyes, tears burning paths down my cheeks. I made a silent promise to the only family I had:

“I’ll tear them down, Em. Every last one of them, until I reach the one who did this to you.”

Somewhere in my mind, a whisper of suspicion flickered. She had mentioned once how something she found reminded her of someone close to us, but she didn’t elaborate, didn’t want me getting drawn into her web.

It didn’t matter.

All that mattered was vengeance.