Lily woke with the memory of death still clinging to her skin. Last night’s edge lingered like smoke in her lungs—black spots, empty chest, Jack’s dick buried deep while she faded, his cum flooding her as air returned in a violent rush. She touched her neck. The bruise had spread, dark purple tendrils creeping toward her collarbones. It looked like a tattoo of ownership. She traced it with fingertips and shivered. Her pussy responded instantly, a slow throb of want despite the soreness everywhere else.

She found the old black bra on the floor—the one she wore the first night they met. Lace cups, thin straps, a little torn now from rough handling. Jack had picked it up sometime in the night. It lay beside the bed like an offering.