Page 117 of Dark Night of the Soul

When his eyes met mine, fear glittered there. Then he saw the blade in my hand. He tried to smile. Blood was on his teeth and dripping from his nose. He puffed out a breath of defiance.

“You can’t hurt me. That’s not in your programming.”

“I told you. I altered the programming,” I said. “Stand. Up.”

He still didn’t move. He stared up at me with wide eyes.

I looked up at Kincade with silent communication. He didn’t hesitate. He reached down and hauled him up by the scruff of his neck. The man started to shake.

He was terrified.

“You’re still mine,” he said. “My greatest success.”

“I may be your great success, but I don’t belong to you.” My voice was ice. “You taught me to be efficient. Precise. Deadly. You never asked who I’d choose to aim at.”

He held up his hands in surrender. Like realizing this was all too real. Like he understood I meant business. Like he knew he was leaving this building in a body bag.

The blade moved. Fast. Clean. Across his chest. He yelped. From surprise and pain.

“That was for what you did to my mother,” I said.

Then I leaned forward and dropped my voice.

“This is for what you did to me.”

Across his throat.

Kincade released him. He dropped.

I watched him bleed out. Blood pooling underneath him.

Felt nothing but cold satisfaction.

And knew with sick certainty I’d crossed a line I could never uncross.

I stood there, not moving. Not thinking about anything but that it was done. It was over. Kincade didn’t move. He waited.

Then I said, “Let’s take care of that server room.”

I started to turn when something shiny on his desk caught my eye. I halted, trying to focus on it. I crossed behind the desk as my heart lurched into my throat.

My necklace. On his desk. He’d kept it. I snatched it up, clutched it in my fist.

But then the laptop screen grabbed my attention. Several windows were open. All pictures—of me.

A coldness settled in my chest. I moved the mouse. Clicking through image after image of me on the estate. Walking with my mother. With Ophelia. With Grace. With Kincade. Images of me when my hair was still black, before Megiddo. Months and months of surveillance. In my own home. In the place that was supposed to be safe.

I hadn’t realized how close danger was to me. Neither of us did. And that was the real horror.

My hands shook. My stomach cramped, threatening to heave.

“Fuck,” he said. “He was obsessed with you.”

I hadn’t realized he’d moved to stand behind me. When he spoke, there was shock in his voice and that frightened me more than the images.

If Kincade hadn’t known, then none of us had been safe.

And then I came to more that turned my stomach.