“Because you’re a serial killer!” Her eyes go wide, but the rest of her body remains frozen. “Oh my God… there’s a deranged serial killer tucking me into bed…”
I frown, noting her erratic breathing. “I’m not going to kill you, Grace. I already told you that.”
“Yeah… you said you’d do worse.” Her voice cracks on the last word. “Please don’t hurt me, Mr. Red 7. I’m sure you hear that all the time, but I’mreallyhoping you’ll make an exception.”
My chest shakes with silent laughter.
“You’re amusing. I’m glad I decided to keep you.” I lean in, pressing my mask to the side of her face in a gentle caress. “I won’t harm you, beautiful. Not yet. Not until you beg me for it.”
“I would never?—”
“I’d advise against making vows you can’t keep,” I say. “Where I come from, a person’s word means everything. I take themveryseriously.”
Grace shudders, but I’m delighted to find it’s not fear that’s making her react. “What do you want from me?”
“Right now? I’d like to sit here and watch you for a bit.”
“Why?”
“It makes me feel better. Less stabby.”
Grace snorts, snuggling deeper under the covers. “I don’t suppose I get a choice in the matter?”
“Not really.”
She sighs, her gaze trailing to the ceiling. “Didn’t think so.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes before Grace’s gaze trails back to me. “So… we're just gonna sit here in silence the whole time?”
“I was hoping you’d fall asleep.”
Her face scrunches. “I can’t fall asleep while you're here! That’s literally antithetical to my survival.”
“I’m not going to?—”
“Kill me. I know. It just doesn’t make me feel all that much better, considering your history,” she says. “I’m a numbers girl, and my odds aren’t looking great right now.”
I lean forward in rapt attention, bracing my chin on my hands. “Numbers… like math? You like math?”
Her brow arches. “I guess so, yeah. I can tolerate it, at least.”
“You’re good at it. Is that why you became a financial analyst?”
Grace jerks, stunned by my question. “I, uh… didn’t know you knew what I did for work. I’m not sure why I’m surprised…” She shakes her head. “To answer your question—kind of. I had an adviser in community college who thought I’d be suited for that line of work. I’m not a math whiz or anything like that—I’m just good at sitting for hours on end crunching numbers and looking at spreadsheets till my eyes cross. It’s a gift, not a skill,” she adds, grinning.
Fascinating. My Grace is beautiful, kind,anda genius.“You went to college? What was it like?”
“Like… everyone else’s community college experience. Some good, some bad, some downright horrible.” She fixes me with a curious stare. “I’m assuming by your question that you didn’t go to college?”
“I never attended any formal schooling,” I say nonchalantly. Before I have time to ask her more about her life, Grace’s expression morphs to one of horror, making me forget whatever I was going to say.
“Whatdid you say?”
I frown, confused at her reaction. “I didn’t go to school.”
“Anyschool?”
I shake my head.
