My phone screen slowly dims in my hand. Every rational thought in my head screams that this is a terrible idea. He’s a killer. Not just a killer. The serial killer the entire city has been chasing for years. And he’s somewhere in this building. Waiting.
I should call the police. I should leave. But he made it very clear that I shouldn’t.
Instead, I stand up. My legs feel strangely light as I step out of the office. The elevator ride feels endless. The corridor leading to cold storage is empty. Too empty. The air here is colder than the rest of the building. It clings to my skin as I walk toward the heavy insulated doors.
My hand hovers over the handle. I push the door open. The familiar rush of refrigerated air greets me instantly. The lights are dim. Not completely off. Just the low emergency lighting that leaves most of the room in shadow. Rows of metal drawers line the walls. Silent. Still. The air hums softly through the ventilation system.
I step inside slowly. The door closes behind me with a dull metallic sound. My eyes move across the rows of numbered drawers. My arms fold instinctively across my chest, trying to hold in the cold. Or maybe the nerves.
“Hello?”
I call out quietly. My voice sounds small in the room.
No answer. The silence presses against my ears.
I take another step forward. Then another. I stop in the middle of the room, held captive by the heavy, suffocating silence. Waiting.
Nothing happens. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he…
A presence shifts behind me. So close the air moves.
Before I can even think of turning, something cold and unyielding presses lightly against the side of my neck. Metal. My breath hitches, then stops completely. A gun. The barrel glides slowly along the curve of my throat, trailing a line of icy pressure against my skin that makes every nerve ending on my body ignite in a frantic warning.
My entire body freezes. I don’t move. I barely breathe. I can feel him behind me. His warmth. His towering height. Close enough that if I leaned back even slightly, my back would touch his chest. But I don’t dare move a muscle.
His voice breaks the silence, low and terrifyingly calm right beside my ear.
“Now,” he murmurs softly, the gun resting just beneath my jaw.
“You finally understand why I told you not to call the detective.”
His breath brushes my skin, a ghost of a touch that feels like a burn. Then, his voice grows quieter, laced with a flicker of something that sounds almost like anger.
“Because if you had…”
The barrel of the gun tilts my chin slightly upward.
“…. This reunion would have gone very differently.”
The room falls silent again. I didn’t walk into a trap. I walked exactly where he wanted me.
CHAPTER 9 - Deimos
I almost fucking killed her tonight. Not with the gun pressed against her throat now. That part is easy. Clean. What almost broke, was the decision before that.
Sitting in my apartment, watching her through the cameras since morning. The way she reacted to Jake's body. To my precise and complex torture. The way she was checking the security cameras. And the moment she decided to call the detective. The way she stared at the phone on her desk like it was a loaded weapon.
One call. That’s all it would have taken. One call and the entire city would have come crashing down on both of us. The detective. The investigation. The questions. And her name tangled in the middle of it all.
I warned her. I gave her the chance to stop. For a moment I truly considered being silent. Letting her make the call, then finding her later and teaching her exactly what betrayal costs.
The thought stayed in my head longer than it should have. Because that’s what I do. I remove problems. Efficiently. Permanently.
But she isn’t a problem. And even if she was. She’s still my problem. So instead of waiting for her to do something wrong. I got in my car. Drove across the city. And went straight here. I’ll gladly teach her a lesson.
Now she’s standing in front of me, frozen in the cold room where the dead sleep. The dim emergency lights paint her in silver shadows. Her breathing is shallow. Controlled. Braver than she should be.
“You are a difficult woman to protect, Madeline,” I murmur, my lips almost touching the shell of her ear.
