Chapter 17

Dominic

I smell it from the top of the stairs.

Bleach. So much of it that it burns the back of my throat, sharp and chemical, drowning out everything else in the hall. Under it, cheap soap and torn fabric and something I can’t name at first.

Then I can. It’s her. The thin, strange thread of her that I caught in my office an hour ago, that hit me so hard I forgot what I was saying.

The chair outside her door is empty.

I push the door open and stand there.

Asher told me to come look. I didn’t think it would be this.

The mattress has been gutted, stuffing everywhere. The dresser drawers are upside down on the floor. Her clothes, and there weren’t many to begin with, are piled in the corner, slashed and soaked. Her bag is turned inside out, the lining ripped away. And in the middle of the carpet, a gray, gritty smear, like someone ground something into it with a boot heel.

I crouch down and touch it. Ash and crushed herbs. The stuff