Julia knew from the way Genevieve rushed toward her that something was wrong. She burst through the door of the multistory car park, let it swing behind her, a hasty, chaotic slam that pounded the walls. Julia shouldn’t have let her go alone: that was her first thought. She had taken a work call, and Genevieve went to pay for their ticket by herself. And now . . .

“Mum?” Genevieve shouted, crossing quickly toward her. She looked haunted, white under the strip lights, eyeliner smudged. Eyes panicked, her gaze darting back over her shoulder. Dread began to churn in Julia’s stomach. She could feel her pulse everywhere: in her hands, her legs, her shoulders; her body’s siren call. Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong, thudded her heartbeat.

And then Genevieve indicated with a blood-stained hand behind her. “You need to come.”