Page 82 of He Sees You

His mouth opens, closes, opens again. "What?"

"When Cain was cutting Jake, I held the knife too. I made the final cut across his throat. I watched him bleed out and felt... satisfied." I shoulder my bag. "Still want to send me to Aunt Rebecca's? Still think I'm your innocent little girl who needs protecting?"

He stumbles back like I've shot him. "Celeste?—"

"I'm going to Cain's. Don't try to stop me. Don't send deputies. Don't interfere. Because if you do, I'll tell everyone about the seven women you failed. I'll tell them about Sarah, about how a seventeen-year-old girl begged you for help and you convinced her to stay quiet to protect Jake's future."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

I push past him, but he grabs my arm. Not hard, just desperate.

"He'll destroy you."

"No, Dad. He'll complete me."

I pull free and walk out, leaving my father standing in my childhood room surrounded by glow-in-the-dark stars and the shattered illusion of who his daughter used to be.

The drive to Cain's cabin takes fifteen minutes but feels like a lifetime.

The roads are empty, dark, frosted with pre-dawn ice that makes my tires whisper threats against the asphalt.

I pass Jake's house, noting the forensic van still parked outside.

They'll find everything Cain planted.

By tomorrow, Jake will be confirmed as the serial killer.

Case closed. Town safe.

Except the real killer is waiting for me in a cabin three miles up the mountain, and I'm driving toward him like a moth to a beautiful, deadly flame.

I use my key to enter.

The cabin is dark except for the fire crackling in the hearth.

Cain sits in front of it, wearing clean clothes, but I can still see rusty crescents under his nails. Jake's blood, stubborn and accusing.

"You came."

"Where else would I go?"

He doesn't turn around. "Your father tried to convince you to leave."

"He failed. He's good at that—failing."

"He's trying to protect you."

"From you?"

"From yourself. From what you're becoming."

I drop my bag, move to stand in front of him.

The firelight turns his grey eyes gold, makes the scar through his eyebrow seem to pulse.

"I became this the moment I wrote my first dark romance. I just didn't know it was a prophecy instead of fiction."