By midnight, she'd raised sixty thousand dollars.
It wasn't enough. Not even close.
But it was a start.
Sienna sat at her kitchen table long after the calls stopped coming through. Her phone lay face-up beside her, silent now, like it had given everything it could. The city outside her window hummed with its usual indifference—sirens in the distance, the low thrum of traffic, life moving forward as if hers hadn't just cracked wide open.
Sixty thousand.
She stared at the number scribbled in the margin of her notebook. Beneath it, a growing list of names—some circled, some crossed out, some with question marks beside them.
People who said yes.
People who said no.
People who didn't answer at all.
She pressed her fingers against her temples. Her head ached, her eyes burned, and her body felt like it had forgotten what rest even meant. But every time exhaustion tried to drag her under, she saw Alessandro in that courtroom again.
The orange jumpsuit.
The shackles.
