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He was murdered.
Devyn told me Jake was already dead, and I made the assumption it was an illness that took his life, not her. I made an assumption, because I didn’t want it to be Devyn who took his life.
A new email pings the top of my inbox, and my stomach pitches as I read the bold words in the subject line.
PROOF
I’ve been here before, staring at an email that could expose a dangerous truth, warring with my feelings on whether or not knowing that truth would change my feelings for Kallum.
Eventually, the enchantment does end.
With a tremor in my hand, I open the email. I skip over Dr. Torres’s ramblings and tap the attachment, my breath held as I wait for an image to load.
A picture of a hospital room materializes. Posters of Nietzsche and Greek philosophers are displayed on the walls. The next image shows a collection of pictures—all of me. One was taken from the first crime scene the very first day I arrived.
Kallum has never denied his obsessive behavior. It would be hypocritical of me to pretend to be disturbed, as I wasn’t necessarily innocent in my fixation with him. There’s a room in my apartment with a wall dedicated to Professor Locke.
My relief is tangible. If this is the extent of Dr. Torres’s claim…
The last attachment loads, and my heart riots against the wall of my chest.
Correspondence transcripts from Briar. I flip down the email log, my heartbeat so loud it muffles all sound around me. My pulse accelerates as my eyes land on one single line contained within an email.
He who sees with his eyes is blind.
I see Kallum standing across the Briar visitation table, his calculating gaze assessing me, his smirk derisive, as he said that very line to me—the line that convinced me I needed him on this case.
As I scan the other two emails, my breath catches on the typed signature.
The Alchemist.
“Son of a bitch,” I whisper beneath my breath.
A thought occurs, and I open my contacts and scroll down, looking for the Briar Institute. The number has been Blocked. I think back to the moment Kallum took my bag in the chamber, giving him the opportunity to access my phone.
The sting of furious tears blurs my vision as I darken my phone screen. I shove the device in my bag, and my nails bite into my palm. I can feel the intense weight of his eyes on me. I’ve felt his eyes on me since we left.
Whether or not forensics can prove it, I know those emails were to Devyn. I have no doubt that Kallum has some measure in place where this won’t come back on him. He’s already conveniently given another suspect the moniker.
There always has to be a scapegoat.
What’s insulting is his assumption that I would never figure it out.
Kallum has to know these emails wouldn’t remain hidden. Every one of Devyn’s accounts are being combed through, analyzed. When she’s arrested, every single piece of evidence that can be brought forward to make a case against her will be crossed in court.
Not if she’s dead.
I wipe a hand down my face, a cold sweat blanketing my skin. I grab hold of the door handle, the thought hitting me so powerfully to escape the vehicle I have to forcefully pry my fingers away.
I barely register Hernandez’s voice as panic crashes through me.
I touch my forearm, desperate to gain a sense of control. Only the coarse feel of stitches drive my anxiety higher. It feels wrong…everythingfeels wrong.
Kallum has woven himself into me more intricately than this case—every sin, every dark truth, every wicked, salacious feeling—we’re bound together by this sick and twisted world we’ve designed.
As I struggle to pull in a breath around the ache smothering my lungs, I turn to look at Kallum in the backseat, and I’m struck by the disarming beauty of his eyes all over again, falling right over the edge.
The fall is endless.
