The morning light cut through the gap in the curtains like a blade, thin and hot across Leena's face. She stirred, the comforter twisting around her legs, and for a disorienting moment she forgot where she was. Then the ache settled in—a deep, thrumming soreness in her shoulders from being bound, the tender sting of her breasts where the belt had landed, the raw unfamiliarity between her thighs—and memory crashed back with it.

Her stepfather's bed. His smell on the pillow. The echo of his voice: Good girl.