Chapter 32 · Pretty Isn't a Crime

My hand's still on the terminal when I come back.

The metal's cold. My palm's sweating. I can still feel the knife going in—not the pain, that's gone, but the pressure. The way steel parts skin when someone knows exactly where to cut.

Cain's standing three feet away. He didn't pull me off the screen. He just watched.

I yank my hand back. The corridor's still flashing red. Alarms screaming. Footsteps everywhere, people running, but down here it's just us and the emergency lights painting everything the color of old blood.

"You saw it," he says.

Not a question.

I don't answer. I'm trying to get my breathing steady. Trying to remember this isn't last time. I'm not bleeding out on leaves and dirt. I'm here. I'm alive.

But I can still see his face. The way he looked at me right before the blade went in. Like he was sorry. Like it had to be done anyway.

"Ivy."

I look at him. Really look. He's got that same expression now. Sorry and steady.

"How long?" My voice comes out flat. "How long were you gonna wait before telling me you're the one who killed me?"

He doesn't flinch.