"Because you're my greatest creation. Because he'll want to use you. Because he'll want to prove that he's better than me."
"What should I do?"
"Run. Hide. Don't let him find you."
"And if he does?"
"Then you kill him. Before he kills you."
I blinked.
The basement came back.
The body was cooling on the floor. The blood was drying on my hands. The knife was still in my grip, the blade wet and red.
Had Gabriel said that?
Or had I invented it?
I didn't know.
I couldn't know.
But the words felt right.
The same way the knife felt right.
The same way the kill felt right.
The shadow.
The figure in the alley.
The cigarette butt.
The note.
"Be careful."
He'd been watching me all along.
Following me.
Waiting.
For what?
I didn't know.
But I was going to find out.
The cleanup was quick.
I'd gotten efficient over the weeks—the plastic sheeting, the bleach, the drain in the floor. The body went into the tunnels, into the darkness, into the network of passages that ran beneath the city like veins. No one would find him. No one would look.
I washed my hands in the utility sink.
The water ran pink, then red, then clear.
