He has an expiration date.
And his pattern all came down to where he’d strike next.
Shorehaven. Gemini. Solar eclipse.
I zoom in on the data—and my heart stutters.
Blue Hills Preserve. Gemini. Comet outburst & Tidal disruption event (TDE).
“No,” I whisper. Panic drives me to my feet, and a surge of dizziness slams into me. I grip the edge of the desk to steady myself.
Twelve.
Twelve constellations. Twelve celestial events. The final onehadto be the eclipse.
I fumble for my phone and pause, thumbs hovering over the display—one, two, three.
“Goddammit, why don’t you have a phone, Orion.”
My breathing shallows, chest constricting under the pressure. I reach into my pocket for my silver case, and it slips from my fingers. Pills scatter across the floor.
“Dammit.”
Fury lights up my body as I drop to my knees and pluck a pill from the floor, forcing it down.
There’s still time.
I tell myself this, even as my heart fails to find a stable rhythm. I tell myself this, even as my gaze is drawn to the brass orrery above, the bladed arcs slicing through an orbital countdown.
As I gather the pills, stuffing them and the case into my pocket, my fingers brush the slender piece of brass buried there.
I found him once.
Perched on my knees, I draw in an aching breath and open a browser window on my phone. I search up the address to the dark-sky preserve.An hour and a half away. With a tight swallow, I lift my gaze to the darkened sky beyond the windows.
A fusion of rage and despair tangles in my chest until, in a burst of anger, I hurl my phone at the orrery. It ricochets, disappearing somewhere over the platform. Fire licks the walls of my throat as I bite back a scream.
Get the fuck up.
On shaky legs, I shove the telescope ladder toward the wall and hurriedly climb onto the catwalk. After I recover my cracked phone, I pull in a ragged breath and fling the balcony door open, letting a hit of cool night air fill my stinging lungs.
Just a moment—I just need a moment.
One. Two. Three. Breathe.
I exhale a long, foggy breath as I take in the stretch of starry sky. From up here, it is beautiful. Vast. Endless. I can see why Orion spends time here, gazing out over the ocean and sky, like viewing a clean slate.
I brush my thumb over my wrist, counting each faint beat as I let my gaze pick out the three stars along the hunter’s belt, knowing Orion has stood right here. His hands braced to this iron, connecting us by time and space.
When I warned Orion he was a danger to himself, it wasn’t exactly a manipulation. Despite ultimately going against my own objective, my evaluation was an honest one.
Orion’s psychological profile is complex, layered with obsessive methodology. Regardless of the number of offenders I’ve studied, he defies classification. Driven by grandiose delusions of purpose, he maps death like a symbolic ritual, aligned with cosmic symmetry.
He isn’t merely a serial murderer—he’s an existential killer.
Hunting his victims right along with his own annihilation.
Gemini, the constellation of twins, technically counts as more than one victim. The person he’s chosen?—
