"Don't—" A big hand clamped over her mouth before the word finished. "Quiet," the man breathed against her teeth. "Get off me!" Lea's voice was thin and high. She kicked with both legs, aimed for ribs, and slammed her shoulder backward. He shoved her against the dresser. The room smelled of cologne and old money. He moved precise, like someone who'd practiced this before. He did not say sorry. "Stop," she whispered, because loud would bring noise and noise would bring doors. He tightened his grip. "Shut up," he said. "Make it easier." She found his wrist, clawed skin. He hissed and swore. Her nails tore through fabric. He stumbled. For a breath she felt the room tilt. "Who are you?" she spat. "Why—" His hand closed over her throat this time. Speech died. Blood pounded in her ears. The suite's door clicked somewhere down the hall. The city's lights drew stripes across the carpet. He said only one thing then. "This will end quick." She shoved with both feet and managed a knee into his thigh. He cursed, a real sound that broke his calm. He lunged forward, and for a second the cufflink on his sleeve flashed under the lamp like a small dull coin. An anchor. Tiny, engraved with a line she'd never seen before. It caught her eye and she saw it again, sharp as a photograph. She bit. He barked a laugh and tried to pry her jaw open