Shattered Sanctuary

After a quiet breakfast, I’d asked my assistant to send over some clothes for Sienna—a simple pair of pants and a soft, cream-colored sweater. Now, we were on our way to her apartment.

I noticed her hands in her lap. They had been still before, but now her fingers started twisting together, a nervous habit that got worse the closer we got to her place.

When we stood in front of her apartment door