Page 138 of XO Karma

“From the map earlier, it looked like two or three miles.”

Aster pulls out his knife, and I retrieve Violet’s gun from my waistband. Aster’s eyes narrow in on it. “What the hell are you doing with that?”

“What do you mean?” My brows furrow. “It’s a gun. I’m using it to protect us.”

“No.” His voice is firm. “No guns.”

“You think it’ll be too loud?”

He releases a steady breath, eyes meeting mine. “I really don’t like guns.”

My jaw drops. “You’re a serial killer who doesn’t like guns?”

He shrugs. “It feels like a cheat.”

“Okay, but how is that going to work when our enemies are cheating and we’re left with a measly dagger and a kitchen knife?”

He scoffs, angling his knife towards me. “This is not a kitchen knife. It’s a hunting knife.”

“Mmmm. I suppose that would make more sense.”

“Listen,” he says as we approach the front steps. “I can share more about my gun trauma later, but for now, I’d just really feel more comfortable if you use the dagger instead.”

Rolling my eyes, I reluctantly cave, holstering the gun and pulling out the blade. “In that case”—I gesture towards the door—“after you.”

He shoots me a smug smile, pulling out his lock picking kit. Despite there being no visible cameras, a tingling awareness raises my arm hair. The door opens with a click, and Aster turns the handle, letting us inside.

The moment the door shuts behind us, my breath stutters. The cabin entirely lacks that stale air smell it should have if the place were truly abandoned. Scents of lavender, lemon, and bergamot surround me, and I breathe deeply through my nose. Then tears prick my eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Aster asks from halfway across the room, concern etched in his features.

The essence envelops me in a way that’s almost suffocating. “It smells like her.”

“What?”

“This cabin.” I glance around, vision blurry. “It smells like Violet.”

There’s an old sofa in the corner with a wooden nightstand. A coffee table with a few comic books on it. Turning, I find boots by the door. They look small. Could be women’s. My chest tightens as I walk further into the house. There’s a door, and I open it, finding a coat closet. It becomes harder to breathe. A denim jacket with a winged design painted on the back hangs in the closet. The same jacket she had on the day she died.

I reach out and take the fabric between my fingers. Having a mind of its own, my hand pulls the jacket off the hanger and brings it to my nose. I inhale deeply, choking a sob on the exhale.

It’s hers. It must be.

I jump in place, heart lurching into my throat, as Aster rests his hand on my waist, yanking me back to reality. “Lily, what’s going on?”

I angle the jacket towards him. “This was hers.”

“Do you want to take it with us?” he asks, but all I can think of is seeing the back of it as she walked out the door of that bar. That’s all this jacket will ever make me think about.

“No.” I shake my head, rehanging it in the closet. “Let’s keep looking.”

We enter the kitchen, and on the table rests an abandoned coffee cup and a Solarium newspaper.

“Aster.” I hold the paper out to him. “This is from a few weeks ago.”

We both freeze, eyes meeting. “I don’t think this place is as abandoned as we thought.”

“Do you think Violet was taken here before they killed her?”