I carefully trimmed the thorns off a dozen long-stemmed, blood-red roses, my movements rhythmic and unconsciously precise. The air inside Petals & Pine, my small but successful shop nestled in a quiet, aggressively wealthy Connecticut suburb, was thick with the scent of damp earth, crushed eucalyptus, and blooming lilies. It was a peaceful smell. A civilian smell.\u201cDon\u2019t work too late, Maya,\u201d I said, tapping the Bluetooth earpiece tucked beneath my hair. \u201cThe midterms are over. You survived. You should be celebrating.\u201dOn the other end of the line, my daughter\u2019s laughter tinkled like wind chimes. \u201cA group of us are going out, Mom. We got invited to Leo Sterling\u2019s estate. It\u2019s the \u2018Heirs\u2019 Gala\u2019 at his place. I\u2019m only going for the networking, I promise. It\u2019s a huge deal for a scholarship kid like me.\u201dA familiar, icy prickle crawled up the base of my neck, right over a jagged bullet scar I kept perpetually hidden beneath soft wool cardigans. Vanguard University was an institution built for the global elite, and I knew exactly who the Sterlings were. Julian Sterling was a ruthless venture capitalist who practically owned the state legislature; his son Leo was royalty by extension.\u201cJust stay safe, honey,\u201d I murmured, my eyes instinctively scanning the shop, noting the front door, the back exit, the blind spots behind the refrigerated displays. Old habits. \u201cKeep your phone charged. Don\u2019t leave your drink unattended.\u201d\u201cI\u2019m nineteen, Mom. I\u2019m a big girl,\u201d Maya sighed, the fond exasperation clear in her voice. \u201cBesides, what\u2019s the worst that could happen at a billionaire\u2019s mansion? They have more security than the White House.\u201d\u201cI know. I love you, Maya.\u201d\u201cLove you too, Mom. See you tomorrow.\u201dThe line clicked dead. I looked at my reflection in the dark, rain-streaked shop window. I saw a tired, forty-two-year-old florist in a canvas apron, her hands stained with yellow pollen. But for a fleeting, terrifying second, the glass reflected a ghost: a woman in a heavy tactical vest, her face smeared with greasepaint, standing over a broken warlord in a windowless room in Kabul. I blinked hard, forcing the phantom back into the locked basement of my mind\u2014a literal and metaphorical door in my house that Maya was never, ever allowed to open.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I carefully trimmed the thorns off a dozen long-stemmed, blood-red roses, my movements rhythmic and unconsciously precise. The air inside…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":19247,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-19246","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\n