** Prologue**

Red. What once had been her favorite color now soaked into the pristine white carpet beneath her feet.

Calista dropped her new maroon backpack by the front door—the one she’d carefully chosen to start middle school—and froze. Her gaze fell to a crimson trail leading deeper into the small, simplistic apartment she shared with her mother.

Her breath hitched as fear gripped her chest like an icy hand. Stepping inside, she scanned the living room and kitchen, her heart pounding harder with every glance. To her left, the wooden kitchen table leaned awkwardly against the far wall, its legs splintered and broken. To her right, the old leather sofa they’d just bought the other day bore deep gashes and jagged holes, as if clawed apart. Shards of glass from broken picture frames crunched beneath her sneakers as she moved, the apartment unrecognizable in its chaos.

But it wasn’t the destruction that made her hands tremble. It wasn’t even the blood—growing in size and number the closer she crept toward the back corner of the apartment.

It was the silence.

Her mother was never quiet. She was always bustling around the house, humming along to the radio or singing her favorite pop songs. But now… nothing. The oppressive hush pressed down on Calista, thick and suffocating.

“Mom?” she called out weakly, her voice cracking. No response.

Her legs felt heavier with every step she took toward her mother’s bedroom. The blood trail widened, the deep red standing out starkly against the beige carpet. Calista clung to the fragile hope that this was all some terrible misunderstanding, that any second her mother would laugh and reassure her everything was fine.

When she reached the door, she hesitated. Her hand hovered over the handle, fingers trembling as tears blurred her vision. Finally, with a shaky breath, she pushed it open.

And her fragile hope shattered.

There, at the foot of the bed, lay her mother’s body.

Her cascading brown hair fell over her face, partially hiding the red stain blooming across her plain yellow t-shirt. The blood had spread in thick rivulets, soaking into her jeans and pooling around her scuffed tennis shoes.

“…Mom?” Calista whispered, her voice barely audible. She stumbled forward, dropping to her knees. With trembling hands, she reached out, brushing the hair away from her mother’s face.

Her fingers froze as they met cold, unyielding skin. Her mother’s bright hazel eyes—so much like her own—were dull, clouded over with a milky film.

Calista let out a broken, wordless cry as the reality slammed into her. Her mother was gone.

Her mother was dead.