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She shakes her head. “But it’s too late.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “I’ve already done too much. There’s no coming back from this.”

“Yes, there is.” I seize on that hesitation again while full-body trembles threaten to undo me. “Sarah, listen to me. It’s not–it’s not too late. You could let me go right now, and I-I-I won’t tell anyone. We can say someone else did this, that you saved me. We can figure this out.” I pause then quickly add. “Together.”

Her eyes dart around the plastic-covered room, taking in the evidence of her careful planning. The knife shakes in her grip.

“I could disappear,” I continue, my voice trembling and pleading. “Move away. Start fresh somewhere else. You’d never have to see me again if that’s what you want.”

For one heart-stopping moment, I think she might actually consider it. The knife lowers slightly, and something that might be hope flickers in her expression.

Then the front door explodes inward with a crash that makes us both jump.

“Police! Put your hands up! Now!”

Oh thank god. Relief slams into me, horror quickly following. If they’re here, they’re intent on stopping her. There’s only one way this can end if she won’t listen to reason.

Sarah’s face contorts with panic and rage. She spins toward the door, knife still clutched in her fist, as officers pour into the room with guns drawn.

“Drop the weapon!”

“Get down on the ground!”

“Hands where we can see them!”

The shouted commands blend together in a chaos of noise that makes my head ache. Sarah backs away from the officers, face filling with panic before going blank again, disconnecting from full reality. Something is wrong.

“Don’t hurt her!” I scream, though I’m not sure why. She was about to kill me. Seeing her cornered and terrified doesn’t feel right though. “Please, she needs help!”

They don’t listen to me. Sarah isn’t listening to them. Her focus is wild, darting between the officers and me and the knife in her hand. She looks like a trapped animal. Almost feral.

“Sarah, put the knife down,” I plead. “It’s over. Just put it down and⁠—”

She screams, a sound of pure anguish and fury, and rushes straight at the nearest officer with the blade raised high. I see it happen before they even fire. There’s no way she can take them all on with a knife. There’s no way they won’t shoot.

A cry claws out of my throat as gunshots burst in the room. They’re deafening in the enclosed space. Blood sprays through the air. Sarah collapses mid-stride, the knife clattering across the plastic-covered floor, and releases one final sound. She hits the ground hard, head rolling until her lifeless eyes are staring at me.

Dead. She’s dead. Sarah is dead.

I choke on a sob, my entire body convulsing against the ropes. Fear and relief and grief crash into me all at once, too fast to process any of the emotions. She’s gone. Part of me is grateful that it’s over, but the other part mourns the woman I thought I knew.

Blood pools under her head, matting her blonde hair. My stomach lurches violently. The adrenaline, the terror, the smell of gunpowder and copper combines into a toxic perfume that my gut can’t handle. Before the officers can reach me to cut the ropes, I lean to the side and vomit until there’s nothing left but bile and shaking.

The officer’s hand hovers at my elbow as we step through the front door, but I barely register the contact. I’m already scanning the chaos of police cars and flashing lights, searching for the only faces that matter right now.

There.

A strangled sound escapes me and I’m running before I even realize my feet are moving.

“Lily!” one of the officers calls behind me, but I’m already launching myself forward.

Hudson, Cole, and Gage are running too, their long strides eating up the distance between us. We collide in a tangle of arms and desperate embraces, all trying to hold on to each other at once. Hudson’s strong arms wrap around my back while Cole crushes me against his chest, and Gage’s hand cups the back of my head like he’s afraid I might disappear again.

“Jesus, Red,” Cole breathes, his voice shaky. “We thought⁠—”

“Don’t.” Hudson cuts him off, his grip tightening. “Don’t even say it.”

Gage pulls back just enough to frame my face with his hands, studying me with an intensity that makes my chest ache. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay.” The tremble in my voice says otherwise. I clear my throat and try again. “I’m okay, I promise.”