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I flinched at his crudeness, but held my ground. "I want honesty. Even if it's ugly. Even if it's that you don't know what this is yet."

"Fine." He took a step back, creating distance between us. "Honestly? I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I've never stuck around. Never wanted to. Sex is just another tactical maneuver for me, a way to release tension or manipulate a target."

"And last night?" I pressed.

A muscle jumped in his jaw. "Last night wasn't tactical."

The admission hung between us.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. Luka glanced at it, then froze, his entire body going rigid. The color drained from his face as he stared at the screen.

"Luka?" I moved toward him, alarmed by his reaction. "What is it?"

Wordlessly, he turned the phone toward me.

It was a photo of a man hanging from what looked like a shower rod, face blue, eyes bulging. Dead. Unmistakably dead.

But it wasn't just any man.

It was Michael Bensen. My patient. The one who'd finally worked up the courage to propose to his boyfriend after years of crippling self-doubt.

The one who'd brought me a small cactus three sessions ago because he remembered I liked plants.

The one who'd just made a breakthrough about his childhood trauma.

Michael, who had been alive and hopeful, now hung lifeless from his own bathroom fixtures.

A text followed the image: Such a tragic suicide. Perhaps Dr. Matthews should have seen the signs. How many more patients must die to protect your therapist? How many innocent lives is his worth?

The message was unsigned, but it didn't need to be .

I looked at the image, my stomach turning. Nausea crashed through me in waves. Michael's face burned behind my eyelids each time I blinked.

"Michael," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Oh god, Michael."

Luka set the phone down, gripping my shoulders to steady me as my knees threatened to buckle.

"This wasn't suicide," I said, certainty cutting through the shock. "Michael wouldn't... He was planning his wedding. He was happy. He wouldn't do this."

"I know," Luka said quietly. "It's Prometheus."

"He's going to kill them all," I said, voice cracking. "All my patients. One by one. Because of me."

"This isn't your fault," Luka insisted, his thumb rubbing circles on my shoulder. "This is Prometheus. His game. His rules."

"Then we need to change the rules," I replied, surprised at how angry I sounded. "We can't just hide anymore, Luka. We need to fight back."

"What are you suggesting?"

"We attend Michael's funeral," I said, the plan crystallizing as I spoke. "It's almost certainly a trap, but we go in prepared. On our terms, not his."

Luka studied me, head tilted slightly. "That's risky."

"So is doing nothing while he murders more innocent people," I countered. "Michael won't be the last unless we stop him."

"And how exactly do you propose we do that?" Luka asked, but there was no mockery in his tone.

"We need allies," I said firmly. "People who have their own reasons to want Prometheus gone."

A slow smile spread across Luka's face. Not his usual cocky grin, but something more dangerous, more predatory. "I know who to call. "

He kept his eyes on me as he dialed. The call connected quickly.

"Lo, it's me," Luka said, never breaking eye contact. "I need a favor. A big one." He paused, listening. "Yes, it involves potential bloodshed and terrible decision-making." Another pause. "Thought that might interest you. We need to talk. Securely."

I listened to his call, thinking of Michael's journey from a terrified, self-loathing man to someone who'd finally found the courage to propose to his boyfriend. Who'd begun to believe he deserved happiness.

I couldn't bring Michael back. But I could ensure his death meant something.

"Lo's going to arrange a meeting with someone who might help us," Luka said as he ended the call. "Someone with resources we'll need if we're going to attend that funeral."

"Who?" I asked.

"He wouldn't say over the phone," Luka replied. "But if Lo thinks they can help, they're worth meeting."

"We can do this," I said, as much to convince myself as Luka.

Luka's smile turned predatory, reminding me that beneath the man I'd come to care for still lurked a killer with forty-eight confirmed deaths to his name. He closed the distance between us in two fluid strides, one hand sliding to the nape of my neck, the other curling possessively around my hip.

"Together," he murmured against my lips, the word carrying more weight than any declaration of love. "Whatever comes next, we face it together."

His kiss wasn't gentle. It was a claiming, a promise, an oath sealed in blood.

And I returned it with equal ferocity, understanding finally that this was more than just survival or lust or convenience.

This was a bond forged in violence and fear but evolving into something neither of us had names for yet.

When we broke apart, his eyes held mine. "I'll burn down the entire fucking Pantheon before I let him hurt anyone else you care about."