Chapter 1 · A Late Confession to the Dead Me

As my life was being brutally stripped away piece by piece, I used the last ounce of my strength to dial Jack’s number.

My consciousness was fading into a dark, agonizing hum when the line finally clicked open.

"What is it now, Lia?" His voice dripped with cold impatience.

"Jack... help me..."

"Are you ever not a problem?" he snapped, cutting me off. "Tonight is Anna's ballet final. If you show up and ruin this for her, I will personally drag you out of California."

The line went dead. He didn't hesitate.

Unable to endure the blinding pain any longer, I closed my eyes. A single tear slipped down my cheek, mixing with the blood.

You don't have to throw me out, Jack.

I'm already dead.

~~~~~

My body was ruined, callously stuffed into a black plastic trash bag and dumped in a forgotten corner of the city. But my soul felt light, floating upward into the cold Los Angeles air.

I became a ghost. A silent spectator drifting above the sprawling grid.

Three days later, the LAPD switchboards lit up.

The FBI Violent Crimes Task Force took over the gruesome serial dumping case. And the lead agent assigned to the investigation was none other than my own brother, Jack Harrison.

The LA County Morgue was freezing.

Jack stood in his black tactical jacket, hands braced against the edge of the stainless steel autopsy table. His jaw was locked tight as he stared at the mangled remains hidden beneath the white sheet.

"Female, early twenties. Time of death is over forty-eight hours," the medical examiner said, pulling down his mask. His voice was heavy. "We haven't been able to ID her yet."

The ME sighed. "The killer took his time. Prolonged, inhuman torture. They made sure she didn't stand a chance."

Jack’s fist slammed onto the metal table, the sound ringing like a gunshot in the sterile room.

"Tear this city apart if you have to. Find this sick son of a bitch."

The heavy metal doors swung open, and Old Tom walked in.

The retired consulting agent had been our father's best partner. He carried a moral authority that Jack rarely challenged. Tom held a cup of black coffee, his brow furrowed as he looked at Jack.

"Jack, Lia hasn't answered her phone in three days." Tom's voice was stern. "You need to call her. Make sure she's safe."

At the mere mention of my name, Jack’s expression darkened.

"Don't bring her up," Jack muttered, tugging at his tie. Disgust flashed in his eyes. "I'm busy setting up Anna's victory party. Lia's just hiding out, throwing another tantrum to get my attention."

Floating in the air above them, my soul felt like it was being ripped apart all over again.

Ever since our parents were killed in the line of duty at the US-Mexico border, Jack had placed all the blame squarely on my shoulders. He was convinced that because I had been kidnapped by the cartel, I had dragged our parents into a fatal trap.

He looked at me like an enemy.

But Anna—the orphan he had rescued from the streets three years ago—was treated like absolute royalty.

"She has zero boundaries," Jack scoffed, turning his back on the autopsy table. "When she's done with her little pity party, she'll come crawling back."

I'm already dead, Jack.

I'm never coming back.

Chapter 1

As my life was being brutally stripped away piece by piece, I used the last ounce of my strength to dial Jack’s number.

My consciousness was fading into a dark, agonizing hum when the line finally clicked open.

"What is it now, Lia?" His voice dripped with cold impatience.

"Jack... help me..."

"Are you ever not a problem?" he snapped, cutting me off. "Tonight is Anna's ballet final. If you show up and ruin this for her, I will personally drag you out of California."

The line went dead. He didn't hesitate.

Unable to endure the blinding pain any longer, I closed my eyes. A single tear slipped down my cheek, mixing with the blood.

You don't have to throw me out, Jack.

I'm already dead.

~~~~~

My body was ruined, callously stuffed into a black plastic trash bag and dumped in a forgotten corner of the city. But my soul felt light, floating upward into the cold Los Angeles air.

I became a ghost. A silent spectator drifting above the sprawling grid.

Three days later, the LAPD switchboards lit up.

The FBI Violent Crimes Task Force took over the gruesome serial dumping case. And the lead agent assigned to the investigation was none other than my own brother, Jack Harrison.

The LA County Morgue was freezing.

"Female, early twenties. Time of death is over forty-eight hours," the medical examiner said, pulling down his mask. His voice was heavy. "We haven't been able to ID her yet."

The ME sighed. "The killer took his time. Prolonged, inhuman torture. They made sure she didn't stand a chance."

Jack’s fist slammed onto the metal table, the sound ringing like a gunshot in the sterile room.

"Tear this city apart if you have to. Find this sick son of a bitch."

The heavy metal doors swung open, and Old Tom walked in.

The retired consulting agent had been our father's best partner. He carried a moral authority that Jack rarely challenged. Tom held a cup of black coffee, his brow furrowed as he looked at Jack.

"Jack, Lia hasn't answered her phone in three days." Tom's voice was stern. "You need to call her. Make sure she's safe."

At the mere mention of my name, Jack’s expression darkened.

"Don't bring her up," Jack muttered, tugging at his tie. Disgust flashed in his eyes. "I'm busy setting up Anna's victory party. Lia's just hiding out, throwing another tantrum to get my attention."

Floating in the air above them, my soul felt like it was being ripped apart all over again.

He looked at me like an enemy.

But Anna—the orphan he had rescued from the streets three years ago—was treated like absolute royalty.

"She has zero boundaries," Jack scoffed, turning his back on the autopsy table. "When she's done with her little pity party, she'll come crawling back."

I'm already dead, Jack.

I'm never coming back.