Page 92 of The Final Contract

One more turn—one more chance to escape?—

And he’s waiting for me.

Right in front of me. So close I can feel his breath against my face.

The rose trembles in his hand. His head lifts.

Shadows cling to his face, but the blood doesn’t. It flows freely, spilling down his cheek, over his mouth, dripping onto the flower below.

“…Sera?”

The word rasps out of him, wrong and broken.

Then his hand lashes out, gripping my throat like a vise.

My scream lodges in my chest, and I jolt upright, gasping for air, the echo of blood still dripping in my ears.

I shoot up in bed with a gasp, lungs burning like I never got enough air.

Beside me, Killian jerks awake too, his body tight, on guard in an instant. His arm flexes around me before he realizes I’m not under attack—I’m trembling, drenched in sweat.

“I know who it is.” The words scrape out, raw. My voice doesn’t even sound like mine.

He stills, steel-gray eyes snapping to me, and I know he believes me without question.

“The stalker.” I pant. “It’s him.”

I fling the sheets off and pace, bare legs brushing against Killian’s T-shirt—the one that hangs to my mid-thigh, necklineslipping off one shoulder. The cotton feels too soft, too gentle for the storm clawing inside my chest.

I grab my phone, thumb fumbling. It’s before dawn, but Stasia will be on shift.

“It was the hospital,” I whisper, more to myself than him. The words come in fragments, like the dream still owns part of me. Images flood back—the blood, the rose, the shadowed face whispering, not my name, but Sarah.

The line clicks after only two rings. “What’s wrong?” Stasia’s voice is panicked, sharp.

“The girl’s name,” I blurt. “What was the girl’s name?”

There’s a beat of silence. “What girl? Stacy?” She chuckles softly, but it’s uneasy. “She was pissed at you?—”

“No.” My voice cracks. “The drunk driver. The couple. That night. What was the girl’s name?”

Stasia exhales, thinking hard. “Sarah… something.”

I knew it.

My heart slams harder. The more I try to pin it down, the further away it feels, like smoke slipping through my fingers.

Across the room, Killian has his phone pressed to his ear, already moving. His gaze never leaves me—stern, dark, like a hunter biding his moment. His voice is low, meant not to disturb me. “She says she knows who it is.”

“Something like… Town… or…” Stasia trails off, then snaps her fingers on the other end. “Appleton. Sarah Appleton.”

The name detonates inside me.

I look at Killian, wide-eyed. “Sarah Appleton. The hospital records from that night. The man she was with. It’s him. The rose. The blood. Sarah. That’s it. That’s who it is.”

His palm finds the side of my head, rough and grounding, but gentle all the same. His thumb strokes my cheek. “Good girl.”

Then, to his phone, his voice dropping into that ruthless calm: “You pulling it up?”