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I hadn’t forgotten how it felt the last time I walked through those doors. The way the air had changed. The way the walls seemed to remember things people didn’t like to say out loud. The way the silence in that building didn’t feel empty so much as…attentive.

Adjusting my bag on my shoulder, I exhaled. Get it together. You’re here to read contracts, not commune with murdered ghosts. When I reached for the door, though, my hand hesitated, lingering there for a second.

I had just stepped inside when a side door swung open and a woman stepped directly into my path.

Covered. In. Blood.

I screamed…and it wasn’t a polite gasp or a startled yelp, either. It was a full, soul-ripping scream that came from somewhere deep inside me and was somewhat feral, the kind that suggested I would not survive the apocalypse.

Peggy blinked at me. “Oh!” she said brightly. “Good morning!”

I clutched my chest as my heart tried to claw its way out of my rib cage and my vision tunneled. “What the actual fuck⁠—”

She looked down at herself, finally registering the problem.

Her cardigan was splattered red. Her hands were sticky and crimson. There was even a streak across her cheek, like she’d wiped sweat away mid-murder.

“Oh, honey,” she said kindly, waving a hand. “It’s candy blood. I was restocking the interactive exhibit, and one of the fake blood bags burst. Terrible quality control, really. I keep telling the vendor we need sturdier seals.”

She peeled a gelatinous red packet off her palm and dropped it into a nearby trash can. “See?” she said cheerfully. “Corn syrup and food dye. No fear required.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse still skidding wildly. “You cannot do that,” I told her hoarsely. “You cannot appear out of a murder hallway covered in blood and just…say good morning.”

Peggy chuckled. “Occupational hazard.”

She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Besides, if there were actual danger, the thunder track would be louder.”

“The what…”

She patted my arm. “Now. Vendor contracts?”

Of course.

I finished the contracts faster than I expected.

It turned out that nothing steadied the nerves like fine print and liability clauses. By the time Peggy had thanked me profusely and promised me a free Trauma Tour for my troubles, even though the office would definitely be sending her a bill, my shoulders had dropped back into place and my confidence was humming in my chest.

I could do this. I was doing this.

I headed for the exit with a small smile, already planning to text Sterling something smug and celebratory.

That was when my feet betrayed me, slowing and then stopping altogether, as if some instinct had reached up and taken control before my thoughts could intervene.

The Victim Wall loomed to my left.

I hadn’t meant to look…I knew better than that after my last visit here. But my gaze slid sideways anyway, drawn by something, the way your tongue keeps returning to a cut on your lip that you swear you won’t touch again.

The air left my lungs in a quiet rush.

One of the spaces that had been empty last time wasn’t anymore. The strip of yellow tape was gone. The handwritten Reserved sign had disappeared.

In its place hung a color photograph.

The room dimmed around the edges as I stepped closer, sound bleeding out until there was nothing left but the brutal rush of blood in my ears and the sick certainty taking shape in my chest.

It was David.

His face stared back at me from behind the glass, smiling slightly like he always did when he thought he was winning. I gaped at his pale blond hair, his sharp jaw, those gray eyes that had once convinced everyone we knew he was charming instead of cruel and still lived in my nightmares.