"Her name is Harley. She looks small, harmless even—like some circus doll that got lost. That’s how she gets you. She tilts her head, smiles real sweet, taps that oversized hammer against the floor like it’s part of a game. It is a game. You just don’t know the rules.

She laughs when you guess wrong.

I don’t know why she let me go. Maybe I amused her. Maybe she got bored. All I know is this—if she offers to play, don’t answer. Don’t run either.

Just hope she hasn’t already decided you’re fun."