Jordan knew fear better than she knew safety. For twenty-two years, it had lived inside her, shaped by the monster who had been her father. Brian’s rages had left her bruised, trembling, apologizing for things she hadn’t done. Her mother, Ceri, had tried to protect her, taking the blows, whispering late at night: “One day, we’ll leave, baby. One day, we’ll be free.” That day had come, but freedom hadn’t. Jordan had seen it all — Ceri’s attempt to grab her, push her through the door, screaming at her to run. The way Brian’s hand had caught Ceri’s arm, dragging her back. The knife. The wet, sickening sound. Her mother’s body collapsing. Blood on Jordan’s shoes as she fled, shoved forward by the last strength her mother had left to give. Every night since, Jordan had seen that moment. Every night she’d wondered if it was her fault. If she hadn’t screamed, if she’d moved faster, if she’d dragged her mother harder toward the door — maybe Ceri would still be alive. The agents had told her not to think that way. That Brian would have killed them both. But Jordan couldn’t shake the thought. It lived inside her like poison.