She took a step toward me now, and I saw something in her eyes that made my skin prickle with unease. There wasn’t fear there; it was fascination. “I followed you. I wanted to be sure. Wanted proof that I wasn’t crazy, that you really were the one who’d saved me from him. I’ve been documenting everything. Where you go, what you do. Not to expose you,” she added quickly, seeing my expression. “But to understand you. To learn from you.”
The room felt suddenly smaller, the walls pressing in. “Learn from me,” I repeated slowly.
“I want to be like you.” The words came out in a rush, urgentand desperate. “I want to do what you do—find the people who hurt others and make sure they can’t do it anymore.”
She moved closer still, and I could see the intensity burning in her eyes, the zealot’s conviction of someone who’d found purpose in the aftermath of trauma. “I’ve been studying. Learning everything I can about forensic science, criminal investigation, how to avoid leaving evidence. I’ve been planning, thinking about who deserves it next. There’s a man who lives three blocks from here—everyone knows he touches the neighborhood kids, but no one will testify. And there’s a woman who runs a daycare where children keep showing up with bruises, but the state keeps finding excuses not to shut her down.”
“Julia.” I kept my voice level, though alarm bells were screaming in my head. “What you’re describing is murder. Premeditated murder.”
“It’s justice,” she corrected. “The same justice you gave my father. The same justice those other people got. Don’t you see? You showed me that there’s another way.”
“I never showed you anything,” I said firmly. “Whatever you think you know about me, whatever conclusions you’ve drawn—”
“Don’t.” She cut me off, and for the first time, I heard steel in her voice. “Don’t insult my intelligence by denying it. I know what you are. I have proof—not enough to convict you in court, but enough to make your life very difficult if I wanted to.”
The implicit threat hung in the air between us. I studied her face, this girl who’d survived something terrible and emerged twisted by it, shaped into something dangerous.
“What do you want, Julia?” I asked finally.
“I want you to teach me.” The desperation was back in her voice, raw and aching. “I want you to show me how to do what you do. How to be careful, how to choose the right targets.”
“By killing people.”
“By removing threats,” she said, the fervent belief burning in her eyes. “You know I’m right. You know the system doesn’t work, that monsters walk free every day while their victims suffer. You’ve already decided that some people don’t deserve to live. All I’m asking is that you help me do the same thing.”
I looked at this girl—because despite her conviction and her disturbing logic, she was still just a girl—and felt something cold settle in my chest.
This was what I’d created.
Not intentionally, but the result was the same. By killing her father, I’d planted a seed in fertile ground. And now that seed had grown into something twisted and dangerous.
“No,” I said quietly.
Her face crumpled like paper. “But—”
“No,” I repeated, more firmly. “What you’re asking me to do—teach you to kill—that’s not happening. Ever.”
“Why not?” The word came out raw, her composure fracturing completely. “You do it! How is what I want to do any different?”
“Because you’re eighteen years old and you’ve been through something traumatic that’s warped your perception of justice and morality.” I kept my voice gentle but firm. “What happened to you was terrible. What your father did was inexcusable. But becoming a killer won’t heal that wound, Julia. It’ll only make it worse.”
“You don’t know that,” she said, but her voice wavered with uncertainty.
“I do know. The constant vigilance, the paranoia, the isolation. The way it eats at you from the inside, knowing what you’ve done and what you’re capable of doing. It’s not noble. It’s not heroic. It’s just… dark.”
“But you saved me.” Her voice cracked. “You gave me my life back.”
“Maybe I did.” I reached out slowly, carefully, and placed my hand on her shoulder. She didn’t pull away. “But that doesn’t mean you need to follow the same path. You have so much potential, Julia. You’re smart, you’re driven, you’re capable of amazing things. Don’t throw all that away for nothing.”
“I don’t think I can do that.”
Her voice barely rose above a whisper, small and lost.
No. I didn’t think she would. Couldn’t imagine she could simply forget and move on, build a normal life with this knowledge burning inside her like swallowed coals.
Once she’d taken a life, it would never leave her. It would live at the back of her mind like a permanent resident. Every time she saw something she shouldn’t, heard whispers of violence, witnessed injustice, it would surface. Demanding action. Demanding blood. It would keep her awake at night, staring at ceiling shadows, reliving that first moment when life fled beneath her hands.
She’s already too far gone.
