Kormoran: A Dog Never Dies – It Only Swaps Its Ties

She died exactly as she lived – convinced that it was all someone else's fault, never hers.

"Your pyramid scheme ruined the lives of thousands of people!" the thug screamed, brandishing the knife furiously.

"Thousands? Only thousands? I thought it was more." She furrowed her brow, genuinely disappointed. "My accountants told me tens of thousands. I'll have to have a word with them. They inflated the statistics."

The knife slid between her ribs, and everything went dark. And then she woke in silk sheets, in a body that wasn't hers. From the mirror, the face of Barbara Hron stared back at her. "Holy moly. Someone here really went overboard with the cosplay."

And in the bushes beneath the window lurked he – Croy Korman, the main character of the book, a Nevite who in two days was meant to drive a hook into her chest while the crowd was meant to applaud.

"I won't beg for mercy. In two days I'm supposed to die in the Ring anyway. If I have to die, at least let it be in the spotlight. Imagine my funeral: the last person to touch me would be a guy who hasn't washed in a month. If your stench transfers to me, no one will even cry at the wake. They'll just fan themselves with handkerchiefs and ask if the coffin is sealed. And now sit down. You'll be clean, even if it's the last thing I do."