Excerpt from Take It Back by Kia Abdullah, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

She hunched over her weathered keyboard, arranging words, then rearranging them. Part of her role as an independent sexual violence advisor was filtering out the complicated language that had so long served as her arsenal—not only the legalese but also the theatrics and rhetoric. There was no need for it here. Her role at the sexual assault referral center, or SARC, was to support rape victims and to present the facts clearly and comprehensively so they could be knitted together in language that was easy to digest. Her team worked tirelessly to bridge the gap between right and wrong, between the spoken truth and that which lay beneath it. The difference they made was visible, tangible, and repeatedly affirmed that Zara had made the right decision in leaving Bedford Row.

Despite this assurance, however, she found it hard to focus. She did good work—she knew that—but her efforts seemed insipidly gray next to those around her, a ragtag group of lawyers, doctors, interpreters, and volunteers. Their dedication glowed bright in its quest for truth, flowed tirelessly in the battle for justice. Their lunchtime debates were loud and electric, their collective passion formidable in its strength. In comparison her efforts felt listless and weak, and there was no room for apathy here. She had moved three miles from chambers and found herself in the real East End, a place in which sentiment and emotion were unvarnished by decorum. You couldn't coast here. There was no shield of bureaucracy, no room for bluff or bluster. Here, there was nothing behind which to hide.

Zara read over the words on the screen, her fingers immobile above the keys. She edited the final line of the letter and saved it to the network. Just as she closed the file, she heard a knock on her door.

Stuart Cook, the center's founder, walked in and placed a thin blue folder on her desk. He pulled back a chair and sat down opposite. Despite his unruly blond hair and an eye that looked slightly to the left of where he aimed it, Stuart was a handsome man. At thirty-nine, he had an old-money pedigree and an unwavering desire to help the weak. Those more cynical than he accused him of having a savior complex but he paid this no attention. He knew his team made a difference to people's lives and it was only this that mattered. He had met Zara at a conference on diversity and the law, and when she quit he was the first knocking on her door.

He gestured now to the file on her desk. "Do you think you can take a look at this for the San Telmo case? Just see if there's anything to worry about."

Zara flicked through the file. "Of course. When do you need it by?"

He smiled impishly. "This afternoon."

Zara whistled, low and soft. "Okay, but I'm going to need coffee."

"What am I? The intern?"

She smiled. "All I'm saying is I'm going to need coffee."

"Fine." Stuart stood and tucked the chair beneath the desk. "You're lucky you're good."

"I'm good because I'm good."

Stuart chuckled and left with thanks. A second later, he stuck his head back in. "I forgot to mention: Lisa from the Paddington SARC called. I know you're not in the pit today but do you think you can take a case? The client is closer to us than them."

"Yes, that should be fine."

"Great. She—Jodie Wolfe—is coming in to see you at eleven."

Zara glanced at her watch. "Do you know anything about the case?"

Stuart shook his head. "Abigail's sorted it with security and booked the Lincoln meeting room. That's all I know—sorry."

"Okay, thanks. I'll go over now if it's free." She gestured at the newest pile of paper on her desk. "This has got to the tipping point."

Carefully, she gathered an armful of folders and balanced her laptop on top. Adding a box of tissues to the pile, she gingerly walked to "the pit." This was the central nervous system of Artemis House, the hub in which all clients were received and each assigned a caseworker. It was painted a pale yellow—"summer meadow" it had said on the tin—with soft lighting and pastel furnishings. Pictures of lilies and sacks of brightly colored Indian spices hung on the wall in a not wholly successful attempt to instill a sense of comfort. The air was warm and had the soporific feel of heating left on too long.

Excerpted from Take It Back by Kia Abdullah. Copyright © 2020 by Kia Abdullah. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.