Nathaniel glances up from his seat, not missing the tension in my stance. “Everything alright?” he asks, a little too casually.
“Fine,” I say through clenched teeth.
They both exchange a look. Thankfully, they don’t say anything, though.
And Cassian—fucking Cassian—his image lingers in my head way too long, right up until the moment he steps into view.
Even then, it doesn’t let go.
That’s how I know just how deep my lie runs.
Because nothing—absolutely nothing—is fine.
Watching isn’t enough anymore.
I want to betouched.
Killing a person isn’t as simple as you’d think.
Even when you know what they’ve done. Even when you’ve seen the aftermath of their crimes. Even when you know, in graphic detail, how they murder their victims.
I tell myself this as I watch Nathaniel, who has been in his mad scientist mode for the past hour, meticulously mixing a poison that mimics—down to the molecule—the exact one the Candy Maker used on her victims.
A strange knot tightens in my stomach. Hunting down a murderer is one thing. Knowing their crimes inside and out is another. But actually carrying out the execution? That’s some real commitment to the bit.
Not that this is about a guilty conscience.
No, it’s about the process. Because, apparently, murder requires a ton of preparation. The planning. The timing. The execution. And these guys? These guys treat it like a competitive sport.
Nathaniel doesn’t look up from his little murder potion, his movements as precise as he’s creating something he’s without adoubt deems a masterpiece. Cassian is out in the city, collecting the last few ingredients—probably somehow making illegal poison procurement look boring. Talon? Already breaking into the Candy Maker’s house, because, surprise, surprise—she likes to bring her victims home first. Creepy. Disgusting. Weirdly on-brand.
These guys play the justice system like a rigged casino. And looks like they are not about to lose.
I cross my arms, watching Nathaniel work. “So, what’s the poison going to do?”
He barely acknowledges me, too busy measuring something that definitely shouldn’t be inhaled. “She kills with tetrodotoxin,” he says. “So that’s what she’ll get.” A pause. “With a twist.”
I step closer, already regretting it. “What kind of twist?”
A small, unsettling smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Normal tetrodotoxin paralyzes its victim gradually. By the time they realize something’s wrong, it’s already too late. But this version?” He lifts the vial, eyes gleaming. “It’s accelerated. Hits fast. Shuts the body down before they even have a chance to react. And the best part?” He tilts the vial, watching the liquid swirl. “The consciousness stays intact for just a few moments longer.”
“Lovely,” I quip, wondering why the hell I even asked.
“Justice isn't merciful, Skye,” he mutters back, narrowing his eyes as he brings the vial up to the light and examines the contents. “The guilty deserve to feel every ounce of what they’ve inflicted on others.”
I snort. “I doubt she’ll feel much from death alone.” I gesture vaguely. “Sure, she was targeting kids, which is already batshit evil, but I think the true victims were the parents.”
Nathaniel sets the vial down with surgical precision and meets my gaze, his expression unreadable.
“You’re right,” he murmurs, voice low. “The parents were the ones who had to live with the aftermath. That’s why, just like before, you will not be reaping the Candy Maker’s soul.”
I freeze.
“What do you mean by that?”
He holds my stare.
“We’ve found a way to torment the killers the way they truly deserve to be tormented.” His fingers drum against the table. “And that requires us taking their souls.”
