Dear Reader, 

You’ve found me. Or perhaps, I’ve found you. Either way, it seems we are now.... entangled. 

I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Astrid Blackwell. I write thrillers, but that word feels too soft for what I actually do. Thrillers suggest entertainment. Escape. A fleeting rush of adrenaline before closing a book and getting back to your life, safely. What I do is not meant to leave you unchanged. Hear me out on this, every story I tell begins in the same way, with a name. 

A real name. 

Where do I get a name? I’m glad you asked. Moving along throughout my life I have met someone who has either lied, betrayed, abandoned, destroyed, sometimes in ways the world never sees. It’s the quiet cruelties that interest me the most. The ones that slip between apologies and are buried beneath polite smiles.

I can see you and I keep a list.

No, no... not out of anger or out of some kind of justice. But because stories demand truth, and truth often hides in the shadows of what people think they have gotten away with. They haven't. 

When I write, I borrow pieces. A glance. Maybe a habit, or a secret you think you have kept. A mistake someone thought was long forgotten. Then I ask one simple question:

What if it wasn't forgotten at all?

By now, you may be asking how one ends up on my list? Thats the unsettling part. People never realize they are already on it. 

Calm down, its ok. If you’re here, reading this, it likely means you are safe. 

Likely. 

Still, as you turn the pages of my upcoming novels, you might feel something watching you between the lines. Something familiar. Possibly a flicker of recognition you can’t quite place. That's normal. 

After all, the most frightening stories are the ones that feel just a little too real. 

Read carefully.

And if you ever see yourself reflected in my words...

Ask yourself...why. 

See you soon, 

Astrid