Malachi’s brows lifted with surprise, and I forced a tight smile. “I mean… I’d rather stay here,” I went on hurriedly. “I’m just scared at night, that’s all, and I think I’d sleep better knowing that someone’s inside the house with me. And I can’t really ask my friends or family to come and stay over. Not when the Carver is using my house as a drop-off spot for body parts.”

  Malachi studied me for a moment. “All right,” he finally said. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “I’ll stay here tonight,” he went on. “I need to go back to the station after this, but I can come back around eight and spend the night in the living room, if that’s okay with you.”

  I stared at him, forehead wrinkling. “You’d really do it yourself?”

  “Yes.” He patted my shoulder. “It’s important that you feel safe, Kennedy, and it might take a couple of days to change the current setup. So in the meantime, I’m happy to cover it.”

  “Thank you so much,” I said again, softer this time.

  I should’ve felt relief at his offer of help, but instead, something inside me suddenly cracked, and an image of a foil-wrapped hand flashed behind my eyes.

  What if it really was my father’s severed hand in that package? Was it my fault? Had the Carver decided to kill him as a twisted punishment for my pleas for his life, or was it just a coincidence?

  Tears blurred my vision before I could stop them, and a broken sound escaped my throat, somewhere between a gasp and a sob. I turned slightly, curling in on myself. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, wiping my face.

  Malachi didn’t move or try to touch me again. He just sat there in quiet solidarity. “You don’t need to apologize for anything,” he said gently. “This is a lot. For anyone.”

  I nodded, and more tears spilled over as a crushing sense of guilt and shame set in.

  Earlier, I’d begged the Carver not to kill my dad. But I didn’t beg for the lives of the other three remaining victims who were still alive alongside him. I didn’t even mention them. So once again, I found myself wondering: what kind of person did that make me?

  An awful, selfish monster, a sinister little voice whispered in the back of my mind. That’s what you are.

  I pressed my palms to my face, realizing this was exactly what the Carver wanted. To get into my head and make me feel crazy. Make me feel like I was the monster when it was him all along. I still had no idea why he was targeting me, but I was sure that was his plan.

  Malachi finally patted my shoulder again. “Hey,” he said softly. “It’s okay. You can let it all out. No judgment from me.”

  “Thanks,” I croaked, throat still tight. My whole body was trembling from the toxic mix of shame and terror now. “I just… I feel so awful. I’m so scared all the time. Last time I felt like this I—”

  I stopped abruptly, but it was too late. Malachi instantly picked up where I left off. “You what?” he asked, head tilting again.

  “Sorry,” I murmured. “You don’t need to hear about this stuff. It’s really not relevant to the case.”

  “Kennedy… you clearly need to talk to someone right now, and I’m willing to listen. It doesn’t matter if it’s not relevant to the case.”

  I hesitated, then slowly nodded. He was right. Bottling it up never helped. Jacob had always told me that.

  “Do you remember how I told you I was seeing a therapist?” I said, looking at Malachi. “During our first interview.”

  He nodded, brows furrowing slightly. “Jacob King, right?”

  “Yes. I started seeing him because of something that happened back in my freshman year of college,” I said. I exhaled and went on. “I had an… episode.”

  He tilted his head. “An episode?”

  I looked down. “It happened at the end of my first semester. I’d just finished my last exam, and I should’ve felt relieved like everyone else, but instead… I felt like I was being hunted.”

  Malachi didn’t say anything yet. Just let me keep going.

  “I was walking across campus to the bus stop, and I became totally convinced that someone was following me,” I said. “I’ve had anxiety issues for a long time, but this was different. Way worse. It was like every anxious feeling I’d ever had suddenly compounded all at once.”

  “That sounds horrible.”

  “It was. I was absolutely sure someone was watching me. Tracking me. I couldn’t shake the feeling no matter what. It was so real.”

  I stopped to take a breath as the memories washed over me in a wave of shame and guilt.

  “And then?” Malachi said, coaxing me to go on.

  “Well, because of my anxiety issues, and also because of what happened to my dad when I was a kid, I used to carry pepper spray on me whenever I left the house. Just in case.”

  He blinked. “Ah.”

  “There was a guy walking a few yards behind me,” I said. “He’d been there ever since I passed the library, and the paranoid feeling I had was getting worse and worse by the second. Then it finally came to a head, and I totally lost it.”

  “What happened?”

  I stared at my hands, heat flooding my cheeks. “My memory goes totally blank at this part, so I only know what happened from the people who witnessed it,” I said. “Apparently, I turned around and pepper-sprayed the poor guy right in the face. Later, I found out that he was just walking to the same bus stop. That’s all. But I was so far gone that I honestly thought he was about to grab me.”

  “I see.”

  “The witnesses said I was screaming my head off and crying. Then I bolted away. A campus security guard found me later, huddled under a library desk. He said I was staring into space and muttering something about a killer being after me.”

  “You don’t remember any of that?” Malachi asked.

  “Not a second. I totally blacked out,” I said. “The next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital with my family around me. The doctor said it was caused by a bad panic attack.”

  There was more to the story. So much more. But only my mom, sister, Ethan, and Declan knew the truth.

  While I was in the hospital, the psychiatrist on call had diagnosed me with something she referred to as an ‘acute stress reaction with dissociative features’. It sounded clinical. Containable. But it hadn’t felt that way at all. I’d honestly felt as if I were losing my mind.

  My mom and Ethan had quietly arranged for me to spend the entire winter break at a mental health facility all the way out in South Dakota. It was meant for people just like me: spiraling, fragile, and desperate to deal with their issues in a private, isolated place.

  None of my friends knew where I’d really spent that winter break. Not even Freya. They all thought I’d gone interstate to stay with another friend while I recovered from a bad panic attack followed by a terrible misunderstanding.

  I always felt like a total hypocrite when I thought about how much I’d lied and downplayed my issues, because I believed in destigmatizing mental illnesses. Just not for myself, apparently. I was so ashamed at the idea of having people know how deep my issues ran that I’d totally buried it.

  “That’s awful, Kennedy,” Malachi said softly. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

  I gave him a small, grateful nod. “Thanks.”

  “Did the guy press charges?”

  “No, thankfully. He was really nice and understanding about the whole thing,” I said. “But I totally would’ve understood if he filed a case against me. I deserved it for what I did to him.”

  “I’m guessing the college made you start seeing Dr. King as a condition of letting you remain there as a student?”

  I nodded slowly. “Sort of. Because it was right before the semester break, the student health center was shut down for a few weeks,” I said. “So I, uhh… I went to stay with a friend over the break, just to get away from everything for a while. Then I started seeing Jacob after I got back.”

  Malachi nodded thoughtfully, his gaze still fixed on me in that steady way that always made me feel safe. “I’m glad you got the help you needed,” he said. “And that you’re talking about it now. A lot of people bury that kind of thing and let it rot them from the inside out.”

  I swallowed hard, wondering if I was already rotted from the inside out.

  Before I could say anything else, Malachi’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, frowned at the screen, then slipped it away again with a sigh.

  “I have to head back,” he said, his tone softening. “We need to start working through the new riddle. Time’s not something we can afford to waste.”

  “Oh, of course,” I said quickly, sitting up straighter. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you.”

  “No, it’s okay.” His hand briefly touched my shoulder again. “I’m glad we talked.”

  I nodded, blinking against the pressure behind my eyes. “Thanks for listening. I know this Carver stuff is already a lot. So I really shouldn’t be adding to your burden.”

  His voice dropped, firm but kind. “You’re not a burden, Kennedy. Somehow, you’ve wound up at the center of this case, and I don’t take that lightly.” He paused and glanced toward the house. “Anyway, I’ll be back tonight around eight. Will you be okay for the rest of the day on your own?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

  As he walked away, I stayed seated beneath the lemon tree, listening to the fading crunch of his boots on gravel and the low murmur of the officers at the curb.

  Finally, I took a deep breath and went back inside.

  The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur as Freya and I spent hours on a video chat, updating the script for the next podcast episode. We’d already written most of it earlier, but now, with another new victim—or at least, part of one—everything had shifted yet again. We had to rewrite the ending, restructure the arc, re-record a few key lines.

  Freya was her usual razor-sharp self, cycling between gallows humor and ruthless efficiency, and I clung to her focus like a lifeline, letting it tether me to the work and keep my brain from unraveling. By the time I finally looked up from my laptop, the sky outside had turned dark.

  Just after eight, Malachi arrived at the front door with a box of pizza and a six-pack of ginger ale.

  “No beer,” he said with a sheepish smile as he stepped inside. “Didn’t seem appropriate while I’m technically on duty.”

  I smiled despite myself. “That pizza smells amazing.”

  “Well, it’s for us to share, so knock yourself out. Unless you’ve already eaten?”

  I shook my head and led Malachi to the living room. He set the pizza box between us on the coffee table, and we ate and drank in companionable silence while a ridiculous game show blared on the TV; something with bright lights, screaming contestants, and glitter cannons.

  It was so far removed from body parts and riddles that I couldn’t help but watch it with a kind of stunned gratitude. But I wasn’t entirely focused on the show, because Malachi was sitting there beside me, looking so damn good, and all I could think was: This is the kind of man I should be fantasizing about.

  Steady. Nice. Protective. Not a damn killer.

  I shouldn’t have been craving the Carver; a man who left body parts like breadcrumbs. Shouldn’t have let him touch me last night. And I certainly shouldn’t have wanted it, either.

  But… I had. I’d wanted it so badly I could still feel the ghost of his hands on my skin, the burn of his mouth, and the shameful ache he left behind.

  I glanced at Malachi out of the corner of my eye. He was smiling at something on the screen, relaxed and unaware. I wondered how fast that smile would disappear if he learned the truth about what I’d done last night.

  “I should go to bed,” I finally said, rising to my feet. “Freya and I are recording another episode first thing tomorrow.”

  Malachi nodded. “I’ll be right out here. Just call out if you need anything.”

  I retreated down the hall to take a shower, letting the hot water scald my skin like it could somehow burn away all the guilt and confusion, along with the dark cravings I wanted so badly to be rid of.

  When I stepped out, I stared at myself in the mirror. Red eyes. Damp hair clinging to my shoulders. Bruises blooming along my hips and thighs like phantom fingerprints.

  I averted my eyes and toweled off before slipping into a pale silk nightdress and padding barefoot to my room. Then I climbed into bed, looking in the direction of the camera on the far side of the bedroom.

  The Carver could be watching me right now. He could’ve been watching me all day. But now, he couldn’t get inside and touch me.

  Not tonight.

  Not ever again.

  17

  ‘K’

  Kennedy hadn't wanted me in her bed again tonight. That much was clear. But she couldn’t stop me from invading her dreams. Couldn’t stop me from watching her, either.

  With a smirk curving my mouth, I leaned back against the worn cushions of my seat, listening to her breathing from the device in my hand. I tilted the screen closer and zoomed in.

  There’s my girl.

  She was tossed in tangled sheets, one bare leg kicked out from under the covers, her silk nightdress bunched at her hips. The faintest sheen of sweat clung to her skin, and her lips were parted.

  She was having another dream. Another dark fantasy.

  Her body arched ever so slightly, seeking… me.

  She didn’t even know who I was. Not yet. But her subconscious did. That traitorous, delicious part of her that whispered for me in the dark. That part remembered what I’d done to her last night. What I’d made her feel. What I’d made her need.

  She may have locked her doors, left the lamp on, begged for the boys with badges to stay extra close at night. But none of that mattered. I was closer than she could ever imagine. Inside her dreams. Inside her.

  She shivered in her sleep, a soft moan escaping her lips. The tossing and turning continued until her right hand slipped between her legs, and another louder moan escaped.

  Reaching down, I fisted my cock, already worked up from the sight of my girl touching herself over me. I didn’t dare take my eyes off her, staring at the screen as her fingers worked between her thighs, getting more frantic by the second.

  Her body jolted on the bed, and she let out a moan of pure satisfaction. I bit back a groan of my own and tightened my grip on the base of my cock. I was so fucking turned on that pre-cum was already beading at the tip, even though I’d barely gotten started yet.

  Kennedy’s right hand started moving in circles, fingertips rubbing her needy clit as her left hand slid further down between her legs. Two of those fingers dived into her pussy, and this time I couldn’t stop myself from groaning. I wanted to be right there. Wanted to feel that wetness. Wanted to inhale her sweet scent.

  My fist worked furiously at my cock as I gritted my teeth, imagining I was right there with her again, pumping inside her tight, wet cunt. Stretching her walls until she whimpered with blissful satisfaction.

  Christ, she was so fucking perfect. So goddamned beautiful. I needed to touch her again. Taste her.

  Soon, baby.

  Very fucking soon.

  She cried out, thighs quaking as her fingers pumped furiously inside her pussy. Her free hand was still rubbing at her clit, and I kept working myself alongside her, matching her rapid pace and squeezing hard.

  My knees started to shake, and the rest of my body went stiff, preparing for the release I was so desperate for. It would be better if I was right there inside Kennedy’s bedroom, spurting my cum all over her pretty face and bruised body, but that would have to wait.

  A feral grunt tore from the back of my throat, and I leaned back, gripping my cock even harder. “My sweet girl,” I muttered through clenched teeth before finally coming hard in the palm of my hand like a fucking teenager.

  Fuck. I leaned back in my seat again, exhaling deeply. I hadn’t come that hard in a long time, and judging by the whimpers and moans echoing through my phone from Kennedy’s room, she was right there with me.

  I closed the security app with my free hand and tucked my phone away, the image of Kennedy’s writhing form still burning in my mind.

  She could keep pretending all she wanted.

  Pretending she didn’t want me.

  Pretending she could keep me out.

  But I never needed the door to get in… and when the time came, she’d be begging me not to leave her.

  18

  Kennedy

  “Kennedy? Are you okay?”

  I jolted awake, heart racing. My bedroom light had just switched on, and Malachi was standing in the doorway, brows knitted with concern.

  Oh, no…

  My limbs felt weak and languid, and a familiar warmth was pulsing between my suspiciously slick thighs. I didn’t have to look to know what it meant. I’d had that dream again. The one where I begged the Carver to touch me. The one that always left me whimpering in my sleep and writhing against my sheets.

  Thank god the blankets were still covering me. If Malachi saw what I’d been doing, I’d never recover from the embarrassment.

  “Are you okay?” he repeated, taking a step inside. “I heard you crying out. I thought you were in pain.”

  I pushed myself upright, ignoring the throbbing in my core. “No, I, um… I must’ve had a bad dream.”

  It wasn’t a complete lie. It was a dream. And the effect it had on me? Very, very bad.

  Some of the tension drained from Malachi’s broad shoulders. “I guess that’s not a surprise, given everything that’s going on. I’m glad you’re okay, though.”

  “Thanks for checking on me,” I murmured, voice hoarse.

  “No problem.” He gave me a faint, reassuring smile. “Want me to make you a hot drink? I’ve heard chamomile tea is good for getting back to sleep.”

  I shook my head. “I’m okay, but thanks anyway. And sorry for waking you, by the way.”