I close the laptop halfway, letting the screen go dim, her last message washing out in the reflection until all I can see is my own face.
I don’t look like the monster they brief about in seminars. I look like half the men in this motel. Tired. Unremarkable. The kind of man who could hold a door, fix a tire, help you carry your suitcase.
It’s always more disappointing to people than they expect. They want horns. Red eyes. Visibly sharp teeth. They don’t know what to do with ordinary.
Tallulah does. That’s the difference. She knows monsters look like neighbors and doctors and men who smile at the right time.
She’s not scared of my face.
She’s scared of my name. My pattern. The shadow I cast over her data.
Good.
Fear is attention. Attention is a tether.
I open the laptop again and watch the cursor blink.
The bird’s still in the cage.
And the bars are nice and thin.
THIRTEEN
BRAN
Themessagesitsinthe middle of her screen like a blinking neon sign.
you really are still watching
Out of everything in this apartment—the cheap locks, the hummingbird ornament, the crime-scene files spread around like confetti—that one line is what puts a knot in my gut.
Not because of the words, but because of what they do to her.
Tally goes very, very still. For someone who usually vibrates like a live wire, the stillness is worse.
Her shoulders lock. Her fingers hover over the keys, not touching. From where I’m standing, I can see the tiny pulse in her throat jumping like it’s trying to escape.
“Step back,” I tell her.
“It’s just a text,” she whispers back. “Words on a screen.”
“He used text messages last time,” Cotton reminds her.
“I can block it,” I say. “Right now. Kill the connection, change your handles, walk you away from all of it.”
“And then he finds another way in,” Tallulah shoots back. “Maybe one we don’t see coming. Or another girl. At least here, I know the terrain.”
“Tally—”
“You said help or hinder.” She looks up at me, her eyes wide and accusing. “This is the moment. You going to stand in front of the screen or behind it?”
I grind my teeth. “Back. Up.”
I step in close enough to reach, and she must hear something in my voice, because she finally pushes her chair a few inches away from the desk. Not much, but enough that the glow of the screen isn’t all over her face anymore.
It’s over mine instead.
I hate that I can feel the weight of his attention in this room. In her room.
