"Please come back."
The phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out with hands that were shaking—or maybe steady, I couldn't tell anymore. The screen glowed. A message. A number I didn't recognize. An address on the other side of the city.
Another lead.
Another hunt.
Another body.
I stared at the words until they blurred, until the letters dissolved into shapes, until I couldn't read them anymore.
"Daddy."
"I'm still your good girl."
"I'm still hunting for you."
"I'm still killing for you."
"Please."
"Please tell me it's worth it."
I put the phone back in my pocket and started walking toward the address, toward the next name, toward the next body I wouldn't remember making.
The shadow.
I felt it behind me.
Watching.
Waiting.
Following.
I didn't turn around.
I didn't want to know if it was real.
"Daddy."
The word was a whisper, a prayer, a promise.
"Daddy, I'm coming."
"I don't know where you are."
"I don't know why you left."
"But I'm coming."
"And I won't stop until I find you."
The sun rose higher. The city stretched ahead, indifferent and eternal. And I walked toward the next hunt, the next kill, the next morning I'd wake up with blood on my hands and no memory of how it got there.
The lullaby.
