Sera woke up to a sliver of sunlight burning her retina. Her neck was stiff from the uncomfortable Victorian sofa. She stayed perfectly still, listening.

The rhythm of breathing from the bed was uneven. Rapid. Shallow.

She sat up slowly. Harrison was asleep, thrashing slightly under the silk sheets. His forehead was slick with sweat.

Sera moved silently across the carpet. She needed to confirm her diagnosis. She leaned over him, her hand hovering inches from his face.

Beneath his closed eyelids, his eyes were darting frantically. REM sleep, but too intense. His skin had a grayish undertone, and there was a distinct, sweet chemical smell on his breath.

Neurotoxin, she thought. Atropine derivative, maybe. Or something synthetic.

Harrison's hand shot out and slapped hers away.

Sera jumped back, her heart leaping into her throat.

I was just... the blanket was falling, she lied.

Harrison didn't wake up. He groaned, turning onto his side. It was a reflex.

Sera exhaled. She backed away, looking for the bathroom. As she scanned the ceiling, a faint, circular distortion in the paint of the corner molding caught her eye. It was almost perfect, but the light from the window reflected off it with a subtle, concave gleam that was different from the flat matte of the ceiling. A lens.

She kept her face neutral, stretching her arms over her head like a bored, tired girl. She scanned the rest of the room. Another glint above the door. Another by the wardrobe.

Three cameras. No blind spots.

He wasn't the master of this house. He was the specimen in a jar.

She went into the bathroom and turned the faucet on full blast. The noise covered the sound of her own voice.

They're watching him rot, she whispered to her reflection. If I cure him... he becomes the weapon.

She washed her face. When she came out, Harrison was sitting on the edge of the bed, fumbling for a white cane. He looked exhausted, like he hadn't slept at all.

Sera picked up the cane from the floor and held it out. Here.

Harrison froze. He reached out, his hand brushing hers. His skin was burning hot. He snatched the cane.

Don't touch my things.

A knock at the door. The housekeeper entered with a silver tray. Breakfast, and a terrifying array of orange prescription bottles.

Time for your medication, Mr. Sterling. The housekeeper stood there, arms crossed. She wasn't leaving until he swallowed them.

Sera watched closely. Vitamins. Sedatives. Anti-psychotics?

Harrison opened his hand. The housekeeper dumped a handful of pills into his palm. He threw them back and swallowed dry, his throat working convulsively.

Good, the housekeeper said, and left.

As she turned, Sera spotted a small white pill that had fallen onto the duvet cover near Harrison's leg.

She waited until the door clicked shut. She walked over, pretending to fluff the duvet. With a sleight of hand she had perfected in medical school to steal supplies, she palmed the pill and slipped it into the cuff of her sweater.

Do you trust your doctor? she asked quietly.

Harrison let out a harsh laugh. Trust is a luxury for people who aren't worth a billion dollars dead.

Sera looked at the camera in the corner.

So is privacy, apparently.

Harrison turned his head sharply toward her. What did you say?

Nothing, Sera said, pitching her voice higher. Just that I hope we can get along.

Downstairs, a commotion erupted. A shrill, imperious voice echoed through the floorboards.

Harrison's face went pale, then hard.

Damn it, he hissed. The Witch is here.

The bedroom door didn't just open; it was assaulted.

Beatrice Sterling, the Grand Dame of the family, marched in. She leaned heavily on a cane topped with a silver eagle, but she moved with the energy of a tank. Behind her trailed Sophia Sterling, Harrison's aunt. Sophia looked soft, wearing cashmere and pearls, but her eyes were scanning the room like a shark looking for blood.

So this is it? Beatrice pointed the cane at Sera. This is the trash the Quinns sent us?

Sera dropped her head. She hunched her shoulders, making herself look smaller, frailer.

Look at her. She's shaking like a leaf. Beatrice turned to the two massive bodyguards behind her. Get her out. Send her back. I'm voiding the check. This is fraud.

The guards stepped forward. One grabbed Sera's arm. His grip was bruising.

No! Please! Sera squeaked. She looked at Harrison.

Harrison sat on the bed, his face blank. He was going to let them take her. If she left, her mother died.

Sera yanked her arm free. She threw herself onto the floor at Harrison's feet, wrapping her arms around his legs. She buried her face in his knee.

Harrison! Don't let them take me! Not after last night! she wailed.

The room went dead silent.

Sophia stepped forward, her eyes narrowing. What about last night?

Sera looked up, tears streaming down her face. She made sure her cheeks were flushed.

We... we consummated the marriage. I'm his wife. In every way.

Beatrice looked like she had swallowed a lemon. Impossible. Harrison is... incapacitated.

Sera pointed a trembling finger at the bed. The sheets were rumpled. And right in the center, a small, dark reddish-brown stain marred the white Egyptian cotton-the result of Sera using the tip of a hidden needle to draw a bead of her own blood from her fingertip just moments before they entered.

Sophia looked at the stain. She looked at Sera. A flicker of calculation crossed her face. If Harrison had actually slept with her, annulling the marriage would be messy. Public. And if the girl was pregnant...

Harrison felt the heat of Sera's body against his legs. He felt the way her hands were gripping him-not in fear, but in warning. She was playing them.

He hated Beatrice. He hated Sophia. And this girl... this girl was lying through her teeth with the skill of a sociopath.

He decided he liked it.

Let her go, Harrison said. His voice was low, dangerous.

Beatrice bristled. Harrison, don't be stupid. She's a gold digger.

She's my wife, Harrison said. And she stays. Unless you want to explain to the press why you're dragging a weeping woman out of my bed the morning after my wedding?

Sophia put a hand on Beatrice's arm. Mother. Leave it. If he wants the stray dog, let him keep it. It won't last a week anyway.

Beatrice glared at Sera. You. One toe out of line, and I will destroy you.

They turned and left, the guards following.

The moment the door closed, Sera released Harrison's legs and stood up. She wiped her face with the back of her hand. The tears stopped instantly.

Harrison smirked. Nice performance, Mrs. Sterling.

Sera smoothed her dress. You too, Mr. Sterling.

Why did you lie? Harrison asked.

Because I need to stay here. And you need someone who isn't trying to kill you.

Harrison's smirk vanished. What makes you think you can stop them?

Sera walked to the window and watched Beatrice's car drive away.

I don't just want to stop them, Harrison. I want to make them pay. But we need a real deal. No more lies between us.

She turned back to him.

I have a proposition.

Sera walked to the door and engaged the deadbolt. She checked the signal detector app on her phone-a hidden program she'd coded herself. The cameras were video only, no audio.

She walked back to Harrison and sat on the ottoman in front of him.

I know your blindness is toxicological, not traumatic, she said.

Harrison's knuckles turned white on the head of his cane. Who sent you?

No one. I'm a doctor. A real one. Not the quack you have on payroll.

Harrison scoffed. You're twenty-three. You're a college dropout.

"I won a full, anonymous scholarship to Johns Hopkins at fifteen. The Quinns never knew. They thought the checks they sent were for a low-tier state college. I lived a double life, Harrison. The money they thought was for rent and books? It paid for my burner phones and encrypted hard drives. I graduated at nineteen under a name they'd never find. I'm a ghost. The Quinns just paid for the sheets I used to disappear."

She leaned in. Your symptoms. Photophobia. Muscle spasms. The sweet smell on your breath. It's a cumulative neurotoxin. Dr. Lewis is poisoning you.

Harrison went very still. He had suspected it. But hearing it said aloud made the rage boil in his gut.

What do you want?

My mother's trust fund. The Quinns stole it. And her necklace. It's the key to the account. You help me get those, and I give you your eyes back.

Harrison turned his face toward her voice. You're insane.

Give me seven days, Sera said. If you don't see light-just light-in seven days, you can throw me to the wolves. Or into the ocean. I don't care.

Harrison weighed the odds. He was dying anyway.

Fine. But if you're lying... I will kill you myself.

Deal.

Sera stood up. She took his hand. His palm was rough, calloused.

She went to work immediately. She retrieved the leather roll from the hem of her dress and selected several needles.

Lie down on the floor. In the corner. The cameras can't see the floor there.

Harrison hesitated, then lowered himself onto the carpet. Sera knelt beside him.

She smelled of rain and cheap drugstore shampoo. It was... clean.

She touched his face. Her fingers were cool, professional.

This will sting.

She inserted the first needle into the temple. Then the bridge of the nose. Then the sensitive skin under the eye.

Harrison flinched, but didn't make a sound.

Sera worked fast. She could feel the tension in his facial muscles.

Relax, she whispered. Her breath fanned across his cheek.

For twenty minutes, silence. Harrison focused on her breathing. It was steady.

Okay. I'm taking them out.

She removed the needles. Open your eyes.

Harrison opened them. The darkness was still there. But... in the center of his vision, the impenetrable black had turned to a dark, muddy gray.

It wasn't sight. But it wasn't nothing.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Sera saw the shock on his face.

Don't tell anyone, she warned. Especially Sophia. To them, you're still blind.

Harrison sat up. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, black metal card. He tossed it onto her lap.

Buy some decent clothes. You look like a beggar. And get whatever medical supplies you need.

Sera picked up the card. It was heavy. Unlimited limit.

She smiled. It was the first real smile she'd had in years.

Pleasure doing business with you, husband.