Ugh. Why did this have to happen on my last day of recovery? I can’t go back to doing missions with the team if I don’t fix this. No matter how great my mask is, Reuben will see through it in an instant and—
I can’t let that happen.
Think, think. Something upsetting…
Hats. Hats don’t make sense. Why not just use a fucking umbrella? That’s what you made them for, isn’t it? To block out the sun and the rain?
Ripped jeans. Why would youwantto look like you were mauled by a bear,on purpose?If you want to show skin why not just wear shorter pants?
Crocs. Are they shoes? Why do they have holes in them? What if it rains? Why call them ‘crocs’? Do crocodiles have something to do with it?
People fashion is just so fucking senseless. It’s high up on the list of things that piss me off. It’s the sole reason why I failed to blend in with people.
“Reuben,” Xavier’s voice cuts through us as he opens the door and I know my irritation is slipping onto my face just in time. I’m still pushing away Reuben’s face with my palm when I turn to Xavier.
“Stop playing around.” Xavier’s expression is uncharacteristically cold, a copy of the look he had earlier that creates a sense of foreboding inside me. “Is the kid gone?”
Reuben steps out of my hands and this time I can tell something’s going on, because a shadow has passed over his face.
“Good.” Xavier doesn’t wait for a response before he turns on his heels and goes back through the doors. “We’re starting the meeting.”
“What's going on?” I ask.
Why is Xavier calling the meeting and not Reuben?
“We’re back to work.” Reuben’s eyes glint teasingly but there's a new darkness there that pulls anxiety into my toes.
This is my second chance.
No falling overboard this time.
Chapter 17
‘Christian’
“The Harvester is out.” Xavier’s tone is grave.
A cold chill had already seeped into the room, but now the air is frozen with new tension for reasons I don't yet understand.
Who is the Harvester?
Tobias and Gabriel are quiet in respective corners of the room, and Reuben and I back the door while Xavier addresses us in front of the nearest board.
Xavier had led us to a part of the mansion I’d never been to before, a conference room tucked away on the higher floors I’d never bothered to cross into. But the moment I stepped inside I knew this room was different from the rest.
There are photos on every corner of the walls. Of grisly murders. Of streets and bars and parks. There's barely any space to move around because of the sheer number of boards, again packed with photos. At least a thousand of them. With red and white threads connecting different locations and people. Inconceivable writing scribbled on every area of open space, with questions that become less erratic over time. Sharper and focused.
It borders on something unnatural.
Something unhealthy.
Moulded into something jagged and precise.
There are fifteen large and clear photos above the rest. Fifteen women with similar builds and bright smiles. And the news story from earlier today is finally coming back to me.
Fifteen murders. A serial killer on the loose.
“Today was the sixteenth murder.” Xavier’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “Starting from, today we only have three months to find him.”
