I think about Corinne—how she saw me feeding and walked into the river. How I spent decades believing my monstrousness drove her to it, never knowing Damien had whispered poison in her ear first.
I think about Anya—how she loved me anyway, knowing everything, choosing me despite the darkness. How Damien arranged her body on my bed like a gift.
Three women. Three deaths. All of them connected to me.
And now Poppy.
“She knows I’m dangerous,” I say slowly. “She knows what I am. But she doesn’t know the full scope of what loving me has cost others.”
“Then tell her,” Elena says. “Before tomorrow. She deserves to choose with all the information.”
“And if she chooses to leave?”
“Then she leaves with her life.” Elena’s voice is gentle but firm. “Better that than staying out of ignorance and dying for it.”
I don’t respond. Can’t respond. The thought of Poppy walking away—of watching her choose safety over me—hurts in a way I’ve never felt before.
But Elena’s right. They’re all right.
Poppy made her choice today, facing Damien at the pool. But she made it without knowing about Margaret. Without knowing about Corinne. Without knowing about Anya.
She chose love over fear. But she didn’t know the full cost of loving me.
“I’ll tell her,” I say finally. “Tonight. Everything.”
“Good.” Sofia’s voice carries something almost like approval. “She’s earned that much.”
“What about the tactical plan?” Marcus redirects. “Assuming she stays—assuming we’re all still moving forward tomorrow—what’s the positioning?”
We spend the next hour working through scenarios. Elena and Sofia contribute via comms while maintaining their watch over Poppy at the pool. We discuss sightlines and response times, contingency plans and extraction routes.
“The rehearsal dinner is tonight,” Marcus notes. “Smaller venue. Easier to control.”
“Will Damien attend?” Elena asks.
“Unknown. But we should assume he might.”
I break in. “Then we stay alert. Tonight is reconnaissance. Tomorrow is the main event. No one engages unless absolutely necessary.”
Nods around the room.
“Understood,” Sofia and Elena respond.
The channel closes. Nathaniel excuses himself to check on his equipment. Marcus packs up his displays.
“She’s leaving the pool,” Marcus says, checking his tablet one last time. “Elena and Sofia are escorting her back.”
“Thank you. For all of this.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” He pauses at the door. “Thank me when this is over and she’s still alive.”
He leaves. I follow shortly after, making my way back to our suite.
I stand by the window, surrounded by the silence of waiting, and watch for the woman I love to return.
So I can tell her why loving me might kill her.
Poppy arrives twenty minutes later, sun-kissed and slightly tipsy, trailing the scent of coconut sunscreen and champagne.
