Alice stared at the message until the words blurred.Ask William about the woman in Room 417.Her first instinct was to dismiss it. Throw the phone across the room. Pretend she'd never seen it. Another manipulation. Another piece of information designed to make her question William, to keep her off-balance, to make sure she never stopped running long enough to see the whole picture.But there was something about the room number that wouldn't leave her alone.417. She knew it. Not just as a number—as a wound. Three years ago, that number had been attached to the worst night of her marriage. The night everything between her and William had begun to change. The night he'd come home with shadows in his eyes and ice in his voice.Alice slowly sat down. The chair creaked beneath her. The safe room was cold, too cold, and she could feel the chill seeping through her clothes, settling into her bones.She remembered the hotel. The rain against the windows—sheets of it, relentless, like the sk
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