Page 15

CHAPTER

TWELVE

Paigelynn

I try to focus on the feeling of the metal beneath my hands, on the sound of Cam’s steady breathing behind me. But my mind keeps drifting back to the guard. To the way Cam killed him without hesitation. Without mercy.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. I tell myself it’s just the tight space, the suffocating air, but I know that’s not true. It’s the thought creeping back into my mind, whispering louder this time: What if Cam likes it?

What if he kills because he wants to, not because he has to?

The thought sends a chill down my spine, and I pause, pressing my forehead against the cold metal wall. My chest feels tight, like I can’t get enough air. I close my eyes, trying to push the thought away, but it won’t leave.

It’s there, twisting and growing, feeding on my fear.

“Paigelynn,” Cam whispers behind me, his voice calm but firm. “Talk to me.”

My hands feel weak, my legs shaky, but I force myself to just breathe. The corridor feels like it’s closing in on me, the walls pressing tighter and tighter. My breaths come faster, louder, and I try to quiet them, but it’s no use. I feel like I’m drowning in my own thoughts.

What if I made a mistake? What if Cam isn’t the man I thought he was? He’s saved me, protected me, but at what cost?

How many people has he killed because of me?

How many more will he kill before this is over?

The faces start to come, unbidden and unwelcome. The Basher, Jason, Malcolm, and now this guard. I didn’t even know his name. I didn’t know any of their names.

But they’re gone, and Cam is the one who made them disappear.

He said it was for me.

He said it was to keep me safe.

But what if it wasn’t? What if it was because Cam is like them? A killer.

A monster.

My body is trembling so badly now that I can barely keep myself upright. The air feels too heavy, and I can’t breathe.

What if Cam is the bad guy?

“Paigelynn.” Cam’s voice is closer now, soft but steady. I feel his hand on my ankle, warm and grounding. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head, unable to speak. My throat feels like it’s closing up, and my chest feels like it’s about to cave in.

I want to tell him, to scream at him, to ask him why he does it.

Why he kills so easily.

Why he doesn’t seem to care.

But the words won’t come.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice firmer now. I feel his hand move to my elbow, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Turn around and look at me.”

I hesitate, my body frozen in place. Maybe I'm insane. Clinically insane. Maybe this whiplash trust him-don't trust him is all just...

Me .

Then, slowly, I twist around in the tight space, my back pressing against the wall. Cam is behind me, his face calm, his eyes steady. He’s so close I can feel the warmth of his breath against my cheek.

“You’re shaking,” he says softly. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

I press my hands against the wall behind me, my fingers digging into the cold metal. “I...” My voice breaks, and I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “Tell me.”

The words are stuck in my throat, but his gaze doesn’t waver. He’s waiting, patient and calm, like he has all the time in the world.

Finally, I take a shaky breath and whisper, “You didn’t have to kill him. The guard.”

His expression doesn’t change. He doesn’t look angry or defensive. He just nods, like he’s been expecting this. “Maybe I didn’t,” he says. “I did it to keep you safe.”

I shake my head, the tears spilling over now. “What if you didn’t have to kill any of them? What if you’re just... like them?”

The words hang in the air between us, heavy and awful. I can’t take them back, and I’m not sure I would if I could.

I need to know.

I need him to tell me I’m wrong.

Cam’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he’s going to get angry. But he doesn’t. Instead, he reaches out and takes my hand in his, his grip warm and steady.

“I’m not like them,” he says, his voice low but firm. “I kill because I have to, not because I want to. I don’t enjoy it, Paigelynn. I never have. Those people will haunt me for the rest of my days.”

“But...” I shake my head, the tears blurring my vision. “You don’t even hesitate.”

“Because if I hesitate, you die,” he says simply. “And I can’t let that happen.”

The words hit me like a blow, and I feel my breath catch in my chest. He squeezes my hand gently, his thumb brushing against my knuckles.

“I’ve done things I’m not proud of,” he says. “I’ve taken lives. But I’ve never done it for fun. I’ve never done it because I wanted to. Every time I’ve killed, it was to protect someone. Now it's to protect you .”

I stare at him, the tears still falling. His eyes are steady, unwavering, and I can see the truth in them. He’s not lying. He’s not like them. He’s doing this because he thinks it’s the only way.

“Do you trust me?” he asks softly. The dark wall bears shadows of our bodies, the dim lighting ominous.

I nod, the words caught in my throat.

“Then let me keep you safe,” he says. “Let me get you out of here.”

I nod again, and he squeezes my hand one last time before letting go. “Keep moving,” he says as he steps into the shadows. “We’re almost there.”

I turn back around and start walking, my hands trembling but my resolve stronger. The doubts are still there, lingering in the back of my mind, but they’re quieter now. I don’t know what’s waiting for us on the other side of this corridor, a big metal door ahead, but I know one thing

I know I have to keep going. I know I have to trust him.

No other person is trying to save me.

The cold seeps into my skin. Every movement feels heavier, like the weight of my thoughts is dragging me down. I can’t stop. Cam’s steady breathing behind me is the only thing keeping me grounded.

The air grows thicker the deeper we go, stale and sour, and I struggle to focus on the faint glow filtering in through the grates above us. The doubts creep back, quieter this time but still sharp, like whispers clawing at the edges of my mind.

Do you trust me? he had asked. I told him yes.

But do I trust myself? Do I trust that I’ve made the right choices?

That I haven’t ruined everything?

The doubts twist into questions I don’t want to answer.

How many lives have been lost because of me?

The Basher, Jason, Malcolm, and all the other nameless faces Cam erased.

The girls who didn’t survive, the ones Rooney brought into the cabal through his church, promising them salvation and purpose.

The girl at the auction who hung herself.

Her image flashes in my mind—her bright red hair falling limp around her pale face—and my throat tightens.

I didn’t even know her name.

What if I’m the reason they all died? What if this life I was born into, this prophecy, is a curse? What if everything Cam has done, every kill, is just prolonging something that should’ve ended with me?

What if I don’t deserve to be saved?

I feel trapped, not just in this tunnel but in my own thoughts, my own guilt. I’m not like them, Cam had said, and I wanted to believe him.

I still do.

But what if I’m the one who’s wrong?

What if none of this is worth saving?

“Paigelynn,” Cam whispers behind me. “We’re almost there. Keep going. There’s still a chance someone will find us.” A flash of Ian and that smug grin makes me move us faster.

His words cut through the fog in my head. I force myself to move again, my hands trembling as I push forward. The end of the corridor comes into view, a faint sliver of light that feels impossibly far away. I focus on it, on the promise of open air and space, and let it pull me forward.

Finally, the hallway ends at a large door. The air here feels fresher, cooler, but it doesn’t ease the heaviness in my chest. My body feels weak, like I’ve been holding up the weight of the world and it’s finally crushing me.

Cam follows close behind, his movements smooth and deliberate as he scans the area.

“It’s clear,” he says. The area is lined with rusted pipes and machinery that hum softly, their sounds echoing in the emptiness. It feels safe, for now, but I know better than to trust that feeling.

Cam looks at me, his sharp eyes searching my face. “You okay?”

I nod, but it’s a lie, and we both know it.

He doesn’t push me, though. He just hands me the ID badge he took from the guard earlier, his fingers brushing mine.

“This will get us past the next checkpoint,” he says.

“Slide it here. But once we use it, we have to move fast. When they find the dead guard, they’ll know it’s us using the badge, and then we’ll be easily tracked and found. ”

He points to an electronic device.

The shadows feel closer here, the walls pressing in like they’re trying to suffocate me. Every step feels heavier than the last, and I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being watched.

That something is waiting for us in the dark.

The sound of Cam’s breath is steady, grounding, but my mind keeps drifting, spiraling into the doubts I thought I’d silenced. I think about Rooney’s church, about the girls who sat beside me in the pews, singing hymns and holding Bibles to their chests like they were armor.

None of us knew what was coming.

None of us knew what we were being groomed for.

I think about what my life could’ve been if Rooney hadn’t found me. If I hadn’t been pulled into his world of sermons and promises.

Maybe I would’ve gone to college.

Maybe I would’ve fallen in love with someone normal, someone who didn’t have to kill to keep me alive.

Maybe I’d be at home right now, safe and warm, instead of running through tunnels, hiding from killers.

“Paigelynn,” Cam says, pulling me out of my frozen thoughts. Gently, he takes the ID badge from me. “Ready?”

Cam swipes the ID badge, and the door clicks open with a soft hiss. Beyond it is another hallway, cleaner, darker, and quieter than the one we’re in. My heart pounds in my chest as we step through, the shadows swallowing us whole.

The silence is unnerving, broken only by the faint hum of machinery and the soft echo of our footsteps.

I stay close to Cam, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.

My paranoia feels sharper here, the doubts louder.

I glance at him, watching the way he moves, smooth and precise, his eyes scanning every corner like he’s expecting an attack.

What if I’m wrong about him?

What if he’s not saving me because he cares, but because he needs someone to fight for?

What if I’m just an excuse for him to do what he’s always done?

The hallway stretches on, dark and endless, and my mind keeps circling back to the same questions, the same doubts. Cam saved me again tonight. He always does. But how many more lives will he take before this is over? How much blood will he spill in my name?

And how much of it will be because of me?