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RUBY WANTED TO feel human again.

She wasn’t human, hadn’t been for a long time, but sometimes she craved the ridiculous, bittersweet emotions only the living could feel. Anger. Jealousy. Even terror.

Take southern women, for example. They seemed terrified of boobs—her boobs, specifically. Or maybe it was the other way around—maybe they liked the view but didn’t want to get caught. Either way, their furtive glances were painfully obvious.

She strolled into the church, designer sunglasses perched on her nose, a silk slip dress that defied small-town modesty flowing around her legs.

The sudden hush satisfied her—conversations dropping mid-sentence, PTA moms with their ratted hair and tight jeans tutting and clucking their tongues.

Their children, too young to stay home alone, clutched chirping devices, while blue-collar dads snuck her glances under trucker caps and cowboy hats.

Ruby bit back a smirk. Bless their hearts.

She smiled at every person who glared at her and wiggled her fingers at those whose gazes were less hostile.

She didn’t come for their scrutiny—she came to save their lives.

If she didn’t stop the fledgling thermophile tonight, the flames would spread, and more families would burn.

Not that anyone would ever know it. The Thermophile Control Agency would erase all evidence of her existence in this town.

By morning, she would be a ghost, a whisper of gossip left on the community’s Facebook page.

She dropped into a pew in the back, crossing her ankles and tilting her head toward the man droning on at the podium.

The words “community safety” passed his lips, but her presence seemed to be the only thing they feared.

She pulled out her phone and pretended to text, ignoring the furtive looks around her.

The man in the second row caught her attention immediately—mid-forties, widow’s peak, sweating under his collar.

He twitched when she entered, that telltale jolt of recognition rippling through him.

She’d seen it a hundred times before. The warmth in her chest, the itch under her skin, confirmed it. Fresh thermophile.

A white cowboy hat rested on the knee of his starched jeans. A quick smile revealed teeth that were clean, but crooked, and a dimple hidden by a salted beard. Nothing about the man screamed murderer and public threat.

His sunglasses were the most obvious tell. Ignoring the fact the sun had long since set, no respectable southern man would wear them inside a chapel. Even without the picture stapled to the front of the file in her truck, he was her guy.

Looking around, she couldn’t help but notice the people around her weren’t grieving, not in the way she’d seen in other places. Especially her target, whose wife and neighbor had burned alive in front of him.

Two separate occasions, roughly a week apart. Two bodies scorched beyond recognition, reduced practically to ashes.

And yet, no panic stifled the air, no tension lingering in the zombified crowd. Their thumbs idly scrolled on their phones while the man up front droned on with all the authority of a substitute teacher.

Ruby could have given them the benefit of the doubt and believed they were grieving behind well-rehearsed facades.

They weren’t. She’d grown up in a place like this, in a small community where people either pulled together or pushed you out.

Why should they care about two women outside their heavily guarded social circles?

They had their perfect husbands, white picket fences, large dogs, and kids molded in their own image.

What happened to those two women could never happen to them.

No, the only crime those women had committed was being poor. And in communities like this, poverty meant a death sentence.

Maybe they should all burn.

She shoved the thought back into the dark little corners of her mind. A latecomer brushed past her, settling further down the row with a quiet, “Excuse me.”

Ruby sat up straighter, leaning forward to get a better look at the straggler.

He hid his face behind his cap, but she caught a glimpse of dirty blond hair curling at his shoulders and matching scruff.

Taller than the other men, even taller than her in heels, the man had the build of a linebacker.

That didn’t pull her attention. His scent did—spicy and woody, like expensive cologne.

He didn’t belong here, too clean, too polished.

Her stomach churned. Did he seem familiar? Or just hunger gnawing at her? Had she eaten today? Her lighter sat back in the truck, safely tucked into her bag, outside of her immediate reach. No, she had definitely had a late lunch.

Her skin buzzed, an itch begging to be scratched. The roaring in her ears, urging her to let go, slip up, consume the night. Her addiction mocked her, pushing her to the brink, where even a passing stranger could set her off. Human remains were one hell of a drug.

“We must stay vigilant,” the man in front wrapped up the meeting, his voice as hollow as the concern he feigned. “Please be aware of your neighborhood watch shifts, and don’t hesitate to inform the authorities if you see anything suspicious.”

Ruby barely noticed when he finished. Her target, who had risen from his seat, clapped a younger man on the shoulder with casual camaraderie. He moved through the crowd with easy smiles and quiet greetings, making his way to the exit.

Her thigh vibrated. Ruby sighed, pulling out her phone and bringing it to her ear.

“Sorry, not now,” she whispered into the speaker before hanging up and switching the device off.

She missed the days of slamming a phone on its receiver. The physical satisfaction of it, the definitive end to an unwanted conversation. Pressing a button lacked finality. And if you missed the button? The other side got an earful of a few seconds of angry breathing.

A voice broke her focus. “Excuse me.”

Ruby faced a woman standing in the aisle, perfectly blonde and artificially tan, her floral perfume assaulting the air. Her skinny jeans and wedges screamed “margarita mom,” but her crossed arms and icy smile said, this is my town. Who the hell are you?

“I haven’t seen you before, and my husband and I know everyone here,” the woman said, words sugar-coated but laced with sharp edges.

She gestured to the man stepping down from the podium.

Her eyes darted to Ruby’s tattoos, lingering just long enough to wrinkle her nose. “Are you staying at the inn?”

Ruby smiled, slow and razor-sharp. “Nope. Just passing through.” She leaned back, tilting her head as if sizing the woman up. “Cute town, though. Love what y’all have done with the place.”

The woman bristled, her smile faltering. “We’re a close-knit community. Family-oriented.”

Ruby almost laughed. She had been in communities rocked by tragedy before—dozens, maybe even hundreds of them as part of the job.

But never had she seen a group so callously move on from the loss of two lives.

They lacked humanity—an ironic sentiment coming from someone who hadn’t been human in quite some time.

“Sounds charming,” Ruby replied, dragging out the word. “Must be exhausting, though—keeping track of everyone else’s business.”

A flicker of anger crossed the woman’s face, but she didn’t budge. “I hope you’re here for the right reasons.”

Ruby leaned in just slightly, her smile dropping into something closer to a smirk as she nodded at the man who had led the meeting, now leaning into a giggling, younger blonde. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to sleep with your husband. That’s her job.”

The woman blinked, momentarily thrown off, and Ruby used the opportunity to slip past her.

As she moved by, her hand slid deftly into the woman’s oversized purse.

She slipped out a small knockoff designer wallet, concealing it in her hand.

Walking down the aisle, her combat boots thudding on the wooden floor, she felt the weight of every eye in the room.

She met each one with a deliberate, lazy glance, her smile never faltering.

She had a target to catch—and the rest of these people could simmer in their own discomfort.

Once outside, Ruby scanned the parking lot.

Neither the man from the second row, nor his vehicle, were anywhere to be seen.

Her stomach tightened with a familiar sense of frustration.

She powered her phone back on, the screen immediately lighting up with a flurry of missed calls and texts.

Ignoring most of them, she tapped the one she needed and held the phone to her ear.

“I lost him,” she said, skipping a greeting.

“I’ll text you his address.” The person on the other line sighed. “It’s not far from the church, maybe three miles.”

The heat of the southern evening wrapped around her like a suffocating blanket. In mid-August, the oppressive humidity clung to her skin, making her hair stick to the back of her neck. She pushed her damp bangs to the side, groaning as she glanced up at the hazy sky.

“Thanks, Lucas,” she muttered. “Do you think he’s hunting?”

“I doubt it. He killed the neighbor only a few days ago. Should be a bit before he needs a hit.”

Ruby rounded the side of the church, her keys already in hand. She clicked the button, and the headlights of her single-cab truck flickered to life. As they did, a teenager leaning against the car jolted upright, her face flushed with embarrassment.

The girl’s jeans cropped at her ankles and wore thin at the knees. Skinny—not the kind of skinny that came from exercise, but from not having enough to eat at home. Her sandals were old, the soles worn down to nothing, and her toes poked over the edge.

Ruby slowed. “You lost? Everyone else is headed home.”

The girl didn’t answer right away. Her head tipped up slightly, but her gaze stayed low, avoiding Ruby’s eyes. Her shoulders were hunched, defensive, like she’d bolt if Ruby stepped too close.