“What are the marks?” I asked before I could stop myself. My voice was too small for a question that heavy.
“I don’t think I have to tell you what they are.”
“How many?”
He didn't look away from me, but he didn’t answer at first, either. He just stood still, breath slow and even, as though he were unbothered. When I peeled my eyes from the tattoo, I saw the expressionless consideration in his face again.
“One hundred eighty-three,” he said,. “and every one of them had a name, just like you. I was their bad guy, just like I’m yours.”
Something cold settled in my chest. Not fear – though maybe it should have been – but grief. Not for the people he killed, but for him. Had he wanted to mark me there? Did he want to now?
I looked at the marks again, and all I could think was – when I touched him earlier, fingers grazing that space above his waistband beneath his shirt – I might have traced my own line without knowing it.
Chapter eighteen
Halo
“The Quiet Between”
Ihadn’trealizedhowthe sound of a person could linger when they were gone: some type of noise, a buzz, that continued on. I had dropped off Eden at her apartment last night and watched her from the rooftop again. Then, when she worked the next day, I stayed across the street instead of going inside. I barely talked myself out of it, and I noticed she had a muffin set aside on the counter… maybe for me. She seemed a little less lively than her usual self, and I couldn’t help but blame myself for that. I had been harsh, but it was necessary to create distance. Why was it that distance from her had my head feeling like a shaken jar of bees, though?
It was Friday, so she would be off work over the weekend. After she locked up and I watched her get to her apartment safely, I went back to my own apartment. It was the first time I’d been here alone in days, and I was exhausted in a way that I wasn’t used to. I hoped she stayed in her apartment like she was supposed to, because I really needed the rest.
I turned on the camera feeds from her apartment, slumping back into the chair at my computer as I ate a sandwich I hadthrown together. I didn’t even taste it as I chewed, swallowed, chewed, swallowed.
She took off her shirt and reached to touch her shoulder where I knew a bruise likely bloomed against her flesh. My fault. When I had grabbed her at the rec center, I had applied just too much pressure, and I had noticed the pinkish discoloration peeking underneath her shirt early on.
I told myself it was good I had hurt her; pain taught boundaries. Consequences. Maybe next time she’d think before stepping into danger like she was invincible. Maybe she’d finally understand why I had to be the way I was.
But I knew she wouldn’t. Sheneverwould, and that was the fucking problem.
On screen, she stopped by the counter and leaned on her elbows, exhaling slow and heavy. Her mouth moved, and I leaned down, turning up the volume so that I could try to hear her. She was talking to herself, lips forming silent questions I didn’t need to hear to understand.
She was trying to figure me out, trying to figure her feelings out.
Stupid, stupid girl.
I looked away, exhaling, pinching the bridge of my nose. Behind my eyes, the kiss played on loop: her hands trembling as she touched me, her mouth brushing mine like she couldn’t help herself. The sound she made when I didn’t pull away at first. That soft, startled noise when I kissed her back.
I hadn’t meant to.
But I had, and I hated that I had.
She didn’t know what she was playing with. I should have scared her more, let the mask slip all the way so she could see the monster underneath. Instead, I’d kissed her like a man who wanted things he wasn’t allowed to want anymore.
The camera feed flickered, and my attention snapped back, muscles tensing. One second of static and then it steadied. She was still there, still alone, still safe.
I sat forward, elbows braced on my knees, watching her now more closely than before. She was brushing her hair out with her fingers. The smallest, most innocent motion, but it gutted me.
She had no idea she was being watched. Not tonight.
That should have disgusted me, but it didn’t. It only made me feel worse because this wasn’t recon anymore; it wasn’t threat assessment. This was becoming obsession. This washungerin the shape of surveillance.
She curled up on the couch. Wrapped her arms around a pillow like it could keep her safe. She looked small. So fucking small.
“I should’ve killed her,” I muttered, the words low, cracking, meant for no one. “I should’ve killed her before I wanted to keep her like this.”
Because now it was too late, and I knew it. She was inside me, and no number of locked doors or sharp knives could undo what she’d already done to me.
