She retched when she saw the brown film on its surface.

Holding it under running water, she carefully rubbed the rubber membrane with soap and water a few times.

She knew what she had to do now. She had no other option.

When the pounding on the door started again, she opened her mouth and placed the capsule on her tongue, tilting her head back, her panicked gaze fixed on a point on the ceiling.

She sweated profusely as the capsule slowly slid down into her stomach.

* * *

It was early morning when Jana Berzelius saw her reflection in her two-hundred-square-foot bathroom. She had managed to stumble home and pass out on her bed the night before. She decided to work from home today, having no desire to put in an appearance at the Public Prosecutor’s Office, or risk questions or curious glances from colleagues or clients. She didn’t want anyone to see her in the rare moments when she wasn’t totally put together.

She rested her hands on the square sink mounted on a black granite countertop. There was no cabinet underneath, instead only a shelf with folded snow-white washcloths in two perfect stacks. The shower was enclosed with dark tinted glass and the showerhead came directly out from the ceiling. The floor was Italian marble, and the room also held two closets and a white bathtub. Everything was sparkling clean.

Jana stood there in a camisole and panties. Her skin was covered in goose bumps.

Her face was swollen and her neck ached.

She cleaned the wound on the back of her head, replacing the bloody bandage with a clean one.

She was thinking about Danilo. She had thought about him all morning. He had attacked her, abused her and again tried to kill her. The thought of it all made her tremble in rage. If that skinny Goth kid hadn’t appeared, she might not be standing here—she might be dead.

Danilo had been vicious and brutal. He had had the advantage and had left her feeling completely powerless.

It was a strange and unpleasant feeling.

She shook her head and tucked her hair behind her ear, his words echoing in her head.

I’m warning you. Follow me one more time and I’ll finish what I started here.

She tried to massage her aching muscles but gave up, letting her hand fall back to the sink.

One more time and you’ll regret it forever. Understand?

The message was unmistakable. It was a death threat, and she was completely certain that he meant it.

But what was he so scared of that he would want to kill her?