Raine's grip on her phone tightened. Her blood ran cold.
She forced herself to breathe, reading the message again. You shouldn't have come back.
Who the hell was this?
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Asking who it was would be pointless—they wouldn't answer. Instead, she typed:
Raine: And yet, here I am. You have something to say?
Three dots appeared. Typing.
Her pulse hammered against her ribs.
Unknown Number: You won't last. The industry already buried you once. Don't make it dig your grave again.
Threat? Warning? Or something worse?
Raine's mind raced. No one was supposed to know who she really was. She had erased everything—changed her name, her appearance, even her voice.
But someone had recognized her.
A new message flashed.
Unknown Number: Tick tock, fallen star. The curtain will fall soon.
Her jaw tightened.
No.
If someone thought she would run, they didn't know who they were dealing with.
She had already died once.
She wasn't about to let them kill her again.