Asher freezes mid-step, jaw locked, gaze fixed forward.
Elliot’s smile twitches, just slightly. He reaches for his glass, and takes a slow sip—buying himself a second to think. When he sets it down, his hand lingers on the stem a beat too long. The corners of his mouth lift again, but the shine in his eyes has dulled. He is calculating now. Reworking whatever script he thinks he is in charge of. Trying to look unfazed.
I laugh.
The sound bursts out of me before I can stop it, too loud for the room, pitched on the edge of hysteria. It scrapes its way up from my chest and spills into the air, breathless and shaking, refusing to be contained. My body trembles with it, as if my nerves have finally shorted out after holding too much for too long.
My chest shakes as the laughter keeps spilling out, raw and uncontrolled, tears burning at the corners of my eyes. I had mourned him. I had felt the hollow certainty that he was gone. They had watched me carry that weight. They had wanted it to break me. They had wanted my hope dead before my body followed.
They failed.
They all stare at me.
Elliot.
Sophie.
Knox.
Asher.
The other victims.
I drag my hand across my face wiping away the tears, the laughter still bubbling out in uneven bursts, and lift my eyes to Elliot.
Seth is alive.
And now I know, with absolute certainty, that he is coming for me.
“You know,” I laugh, voice shaking, “whether you kill me or not…you’re all so incredibly fucked.”
Chapter 11
Seth
Three Days Earlier
Iopen my eyes slowly and find Brooke beside me in our bed. Morning light filters through the curtains behind her, soft enough to blur everything except her. She smiles, her smile always eases every part of me I never knew how to quiet.
I lift my hand and rest it against her stomach. Her skin is warm beneath my palm, and the gentle swell beneath it makes my heart stutter. Her fingers brush along my jaw, like she is trying to memorize me. She shifts closer and presses her mouth to mine with the quiet confidence that we have all the time in the world. For a moment, I believe it completely.
The dream scattered instantly.
A sudden jolt lifts my body, tearing the warmth away like the bed is ripped out from under me. Harsh light slams into my eyes. Cold air hits my chest. Hands press down on me, pinning me against a surface that isn’t soft or familiar anymore.
Voices rise around me in frantic bursts.
“We’re losing him—keep pressure there—move!”
Pain shoots through my chest as someone presses down. Another hand forces my head to the side. My breath catches behind a mask I didn’t even realize was there until it’s already over my face. The world shifts hard, and I realize I’m being lifted onto a stretcher.
A voice right above me shouts,
“Pulse is faint—he’s hypovolemic—get the line in now!”
I gasp like I’ve been drowning. I try to focus as the ceiling of the hotel blurs above me. Sirens wail outside. Medics crowd around me. Blood covers mychest and soaks the sheets beneath me. Every movement sends another wave of heat tearing through my side.
The memories of what just happened slam into me.
