My first thought when I wake up is that I'm running late.

For some reason, my brain doesn't register that it's a Saturday, nor does it register that my alarm didn't go off because I'm not even in my own house.

When my eyes open, I'm staring up a different ceiling, sunlight streaming in from a large window off to the left instead of the right. The sheets are different. The blankets are thicker and the room is warmer.

And Joel Reed is sleeping next to me.

He's curled up on his side, facing away from me, his breathing slow and deep. His shoulders lift each time he exhales. When he's at peace like this, I don't want to disturb him.

I check the clock and notice that we've slept in. It makes sense, considering how late we were up. Admittedly, I'm a little sore, a bit nervous, and full of energy. I'm with Joel. The relief in knowing that he still wants to be with me even after everything I've told him is more than reassuring.

Suddenly, he stirs, blinking at me with eyes still half-closed from sleep. "Hey, sweetheart."

His voice is deeper than normal when he's just woken up and it's the most attractive thing I've ever heard.

"Hi," I say, nervously tugging on the hem of my shirt to keep it from riding up.

"Last night," he murmurs. "I don't know where to start."

I burrow deeper into the sheets, wondering if that's good or bad or the grey area in between.

"Hey," he whispers. "It was amazing. I wouldn't change anything about it."

He reaches out and pushes my hair behind my ear gently, his hand lingering. Comfortable, I lean into his palm, trying to memorize what his fingers brushing my cheek feels like so I never forget it.

"Is it bad that I want to stay in bed with you all afternoon?" he asks, gently pulling me closer.

I shake my head. "If I didn't have homework, I would agree."

He sighs. "Must you always have homework?"

I shrug. "Par for the course."

He kisses my shoulder, his lips warm and gentle. "Can the homework wait a few hours so I can make you breakfast?"

"I think it can."

There are dimples in his lower back. I spend several minutes staring at them as he scrambles eggs on the stove. His boxers are hanging low on his hips, and they're all he's been wearing for a solid half-hour. I haven't gotten dressed either. If I do that, I'm going to have to admit our perfect morning is over.

We talk over eggs, toast, and coffee, enjoying the moment for what it is. No one has ever made me breakfast before. Hell, no one has ever made love to me before. This whole day is full of new experiences, quickly being discovered.

"How do you feel?" he asks after he's put our plates in the sink.

"Good," I say. "Really good."

He grins. "That's what I wanna hear."

I have trouble leaving. If I could afford it, we would be back in his bed and probably wouldn't leave for the afternoon. Unfortunately, duty calls, so I settle for a kiss goodbye and go on my way.

I take the train home, my cheeks flushed from both the brisk air and the memory of Joel and I. The whole thing feels so unreal. There's hope inside me for the future, optimism in everything I do.

I open the door to my apartment feeling absolutely lighthearted. Betsy's coming out of the bathroom after a shower as I'm kicking off my shoes. For a second, she stops and narrows her eyes at me, scanning me head to toe.

"Oh my God," she finally says, gasping. "Violet Carrigan spent the night with someone."

I swallow, fighting my embarrassment. "Betsy, it's not a big deal."

"And you didn't deny it!" She covers her mouth with her hands. "Holy mother— I can't believe this! My Vi had sex!"

"I don't want to talk about it," I tell her as I hang my jacket up.

"How was it?" She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. "He looks like a guy with lots of experience."

My throat closes at the notion of Joel with other girls, but I dismiss the thought instantly. I don't want to think about that, not here, not now. I hang onto the memory of us, for now. I'm so happy, so utterly complete.

He was incredible. Since he knew more than I did, he led me without hesitation. He was absolutely amazing, but I'm too shy to share the details just yet.

"It was new," I admit. "But good, I guess? I've got to shower and start my homework."

"That's all I get?" Betsy protests.

"Yes," I reply and close the bathroom door behind me.

After a shower spent replaying everything between Joel and me thus far, I wrap my hair in a towel and lock myself in my room to finish yet another essay for this program.

When I steal a glance at myself in the mirror, my cheeks are still flushed and my bruises have faded a little more. My eyes are the real difference; amid the chaotic sea of blue and green is joy.

Naturally, it doesn't stay that way.

When I was a kid, slasher movies were my favorites to watch. Scream was easily the best franchise and I would watch and rewatch until I knew all the dialogue and jump scares and everything in between. The creepy phone calls never got old, so long as they stayed in the movies.

It's alarming when my phone starts buzzing with an unknown number at midnight. I hit the button to ignore it, but they call again. And again.

It's probably just a telemarketer, I tell myself.

I want to believe that it is. Those three phone calls in a row have to be just stubborn perseverance. I only believe that until I realize that they left a far from automated voicemail— one with a modulated distortion that sends shivers down my spine.

"Listen very carefully, Violet Carrigan. So here's the situation— we know you. We know where you live, where you sleep, who you love. Don't give us a reason to dispose of you. There will come a time when we will use you for a job, so do not give us a reason to harm anyone who stands in our way. We're watching you. We are monitoring you very carefully. You belong to us."

The line goes dead. The voicemail is over. My heart is pounding in my chest.

When my phone starts ringing again, I nearly jump out of my skin, sweat running cold down my back. But it's not the unknown number, it's Chief. Of course, it's him.

"Carrigan, another 187. Sixth Avenue. Remember the case with the bar fight? I need you to come in as a witness and file the report. The perp fled the scene in the chaos. Should be easy to find him, but it always helps to have your statement."

My breathing is still tight with the stress of the voicemail. "I-I can do that tomorrow morning."

I catch my words faltering and try to retain a calm demeanor, clenching my hands into tight fists.

"Are you okay, Carrigan?"

I want to lie, I want to tell him that I am okay out of sheer fear that my life is on the line, but I can't do it. The words come pouring out of my mouth.

"They called me," I blurt. "They threatened me and I'm scared for my life."

"Who?" Chief asks carefully.

"The men who hacked us," I whisper. "They said they had a job for me and that if I didn't comply they might hurt me. I don't know what to do."

"Tread carefully," Chief says. "Tomorrow morning, you are to leave the city for several days. Forget the report, we can probably catch him on our own. You need to be careful who you trust, Carrigan. What you can do is a bit like playing God and I'm sure many people would have no regard for anything that stands in the way of them taking control of you. If we're lucky, the threats are empty. But for now, we'll treat it like they aren't. We'll keep you safe."

I wipe sweaty hands on my pants. "Alright, Chief."

"Get some rest," he says. "I'll have Reed pick you up tomorrow morning."

"I'm counting on you," I tell him before he hangs up.

I go to bed that night feeling like I'm being watched. It takes an eternity for me to fall asleep, for me to shut my chaotic mind off. The only reason I'm able to is that I pass out from sheer exhaustion.

Murphy's Law is the idea that if something can go wrong, then it will. All my life, the odds of me staying happy have never been particularly good. It's fitting, really, that the second I have found balance, the second my world has returned to stability, everything goes up in flames.

Literally.