Stillness wrapped around me like a shroud as I absorbed Jace’s words, each syllable twisting inside my mind. My heart pounded, caught between disbelief and a cruel relief.
I wasn’t skilled at detecting deception—never had been—but why would Jace lie? Not when my end was so imminent, when he had every reason to be honest. If not him, then who had silenced Charlie?
A storm of emotions churned within me: the dull ache of resignation that I might never uncover the truth about my best friend’s fate, mingled with a fragile sense of release that Jace wasn’t the monster I feared.
I gave a small, steady nod to myself.
"Thank you," I murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
Maybe this was mercy disguised. To know the killer might have turned my heart to stone, leaving nothing but bitterness to carry into whatever came next. Hate was too heavy a cross to bear.
"Will it hurt?" I asked, voice trembling. "The dying part, I mean."
He let out a low chuckle, the sound unnervingly casual.
"Lucy, you’ve got me all wrong," he said with a crooked grin. "I don’t kill because I’m driven by some twisted impulse. And don’t think for a second I’m out here playing savior because of Michael or his sins."
His demeanor shifted, darkening into something colder, more dangerous.
"I kill because I enjoy the power it gives me," he admitted, shrugging like it was the simplest truth. "Nothing noble about it. I savor watching the worst flicker in their eyes before it’s over—the terror, the shame, the helplessness. No shades of gray here. Just pure, raw hunger."
He crouched before me, his knife gleaming ominously mere inches from my throat. The cold steel reflected the dim light, capturing each of my thick lashes like tiny shadows frozen in time.
"Your misery—that’s my prize, Lucy," he whispered, voice low and steady.
I met his gaze unflinchingly. Close enough to see the fine red flecks swirling in his deep brown eyes, alive with a cruel amusement that made my skin crawl.
And yet, despite everything, I found myself saying quietly, "That takes guts, you know. To chase your own version of happiness so fiercely—even if it’s dark and twisted. I can’t help but respect that."
His eyebrows knitted together, his nose crinkling as if I’d just tasted something foul.
"Are you seriously admiring a killer?" he asked, disbelief flickering across his features.
"No," I clarified, "I hate the very thought of ending a life. It terrifies me. But I respect the way you own your path—however grim it is—and somehow still make this place a little safer. Tell me, Jace—the thirty-eight you’ve sent away—were they all like Michael?"
He exhaled slowly, lips pressing into a thin line as if weighing the memory.
"The only thing they share is the company they keep now—in hell," he said quietly.
"So you only go after bad people?" I pressed.
"You’re missing the point," he said sharply.
"But you help others—"
Before I could finish, Jace’s hand coiled around my throat with a strength I hadn’t anticipated. He shoved me down onto the unforgiving floor. I lay flat, heart hammering as his knife hovered threateningly close to my eye—so close I could count my lashes reflected in the cold steel.
He pressed his body against mine—still warm from when we danced, that strange memory stirring a flicker of yearning.
"I could kill the innocent as easily as the guilty," he murmured, voice low and dangerous.
"If that’s what you wanted," I whispered, eyes fluttering closed but lips curled in a tentative smile.
I wondered what it felt like—to slip away. Was death like falling asleep? Would there be anything beyond? Faces I missed—Charlie, Dad—waiting for me?
"Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lucy," he said, releasing me and straightening. His tone was lighter now, teasing.
Slowly, I blinked my eyes open again. Jace rose smoothly and extended a hand down to me.
"I’m not here to grant your wish to die," he said firmly. "You have to be patient. Michael comes first. I’m not wasting a kill."
"Alright," I whispered, swallowing the lump in my throat.
I grasped his hand and pulled myself up, wincing as a sharp, blistering pain stabbed through my left leg. I took a deep breath, willing the agony to ebb with every slow exhale.
"Can you walk?" Jace asked, voice gentle.
"Not very well," I admitted, forcing a weak smile.
"No worries," he said, handing me a heavy duffel bag from his workbench. "Carry this for me."
I slung the bag over my shoulder, the weight anchoring me as he led the way upstairs. Our footsteps echoed unevenly along the hallway, the stillness thick around us.
At the front door, Jace grabbed a rifle hanging by the coat rack, slinging it casually over his shoulder. The ease with which he handled the weapon made him seem almost at home in danger.
Outside, the night air was crisp and sharp against my skin, the silhouettes of towering pines casting long, spindly shadows across the driveway.
Jace knelt briefly, inspecting a dark red puddle glistening on the asphalt, then rose, following a faint trail leading behind the villa. It was as if his eyes cut through the darkness, seeing paths invisible to me.
My footsteps crunched on the gravel path as we moved toward the rear of the property. When I looked up, the lake that stretched beyond the villa’s stone wall lay serene, bathed in the pale moonlight—a quiet haven in the midst of this chaos.
"It’s clear why your family chose this place," I murmured, mesmerized by the still water reflecting the scattered stars.
We reached a worn iron gate leading to the lake’s edge. Jace examined the latch deftly, then led us through. Instead of the path, he veered sharply into the dense forest bordering the property.
"Where are we going?" I asked, curiosity sharpening despite the ache in my leg.
"Hunting," he replied simply, glancing back with a faint, guarded smile. "Ever hunted in Blackthorn before?"
I adjusted the duffel bag, trying to find a comfortable balance across my shoulder.
"Not quite," I said. "My friends and I used to catch frogs as kids. Charlie even caught a rabbit once. It was a big deal."
Jace nodded thoughtfully, eyes scanning the shadows ahead.
We pressed deeper into the woods, the air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. Twisting roots snaked underfoot, and every so often Jace paused, crouching to examine a broken twig or a faint smear of crimson.
>His gaze was sharp and practiced—like someone who had walked these woods countless times, attuned to every subtle sign.
"Did you grow up hunting with your parents?" I asked quietly, careful not to disrupt the fragile silence.
He looked back at me, a trace of surprise flickering in his eyes, as if he had momentarily forgotten I was there.
"No," he said softly. "They’re pacifists—wouldn’t harm a creature, not even a fly. I had to beg for permission to hunt."
"They must be very kind," I said, imagining the peaceful home behind his guarded exterior.
"You don’t know who my parents are?" Jace asked, one brow arching in mild disbelief.
I shook my head.
He chuckled, shaking his head at me.
"I thought you confessed because you were after my family’s fortune," he teased. "Lloyd Healthcare isn’t exactly small potatoes. But seriously—why confess to me?"
My ankle twisted awkwardly against a root hidden beneath the leaves, and I caught a sharp breath, biting back a cry.
"Because I like you," I said, voice soft but steady, struggling to keep pace.
Jace raised a questioning brow.
"Like? Not just liked?" he probed.
"My feelings aren’t the kind to fade after just two days," I smiled faintly, meeting his gaze through the dim light.
The woods whispered around us, the night holding its breath as we forged onward together—two unlikely companions bound by secrets and the shadow of what was yet to come.