Page 20 of Kill, Sleep, Repeat: Vol II

But she played it well.

I don’t know why I kept watching her. Maybe it was because the lighting was low and I didn’t figure she’d recognize me later. Maybe it was because she wasn’t afraid to make me uncomfortable. She had this way of letting her eyes linger just a fraction too long, like she knew things about me that I didn’t even know myself. It wasn’t the kind of attention that made you feel seen. It was the kind that made you feel exposed. And I didn’t like it, but I couldn’t get enough of it.

We ended up in the same place a few times after that: a coffee shop here, a nondescript office building there. I could feel her presence before I even saw her, like an itch under my skin. A tickling anticipation. She wasn’t subtle about it, either. She was deliberate. She knew she was being watched.

One evening, I followed her after she left a meeting. She walked briskly, purposeful, as if she had somewhere to be—maybe it was a lover, maybe a deal, maybe something entirely different. Whatever it was, it wasn’t meant for me. She could feel me in her periphery, but she didn’t acknowledge me. Not once.

I don’t know when I started properly following her. Maybe it was after she turned down my offer for a date on that pathetic app she’s always on. Or maybe it was after a string of brief but endearing messages which ended with her writing back—sharp and cold—“Do I know you from somewhere?”

I told her she didn’t. She doesn’t.

But for whatever sick reason, I respected her more in that moment than I had in all the hours before.

It wasn’t long before I started figuring out where she went. I shadowed her to those places you don’t really go unless you have to—boutique hotels, empty warehouses. Places where secrets get exchanged, where stories are erased and rewritten. Ifollowed her into the night, watched her pull into a grimy alley and disappear behind a door I didn’t have access to. It wasn’t the location that drew me in. It was what she did when she thought she was alone.

She wasn’t nearly as clean as she thought she was.

There’s something thrilling about catching a person off guard. That moment when they let their mask slip. It’s pure satisfaction, the kind you can’t buy. The kind you can only get from someone like her—someone who has no idea what they’re leaving behind when they walk away. The sense that you’re not in control, that they’re playing a game they never told you about. That’s the moment I’m waiting for. The one where she realizes she doesn’t have the upper hand anymore.

There’s something else, though. A tenderness, an odd kind of softness in her eyes when she looks at people. It’s the thing that stops me from pulling the trigger, even when I’m so damn close to it. That tenderness, buried underneath the carefully constructed walls. It makes me hesitate.

But only for a second.

She doesn’t think I’m watching. She probably doesn’t even care. But I see the way she checks her phone in a hurry, the way she adjusts her hair in a reflection. The way she drags her coat over her shoulders like she’s hiding something—maybe it’s guilt, maybe it’s a secret. Either way, she’s not the polished professional she pretends to be. She’s flawed, like the rest of us. And I don’t want to just watch anymore. I want to know her. I want to get close enough to rip those secrets from her, piece by piece.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll have what I need to end it all.

But right now, I’m not done. Not by a long shot.

17

SOPHIE

Iwake with a jolt, my body stiff and disoriented. My eyes snap open, and for a second, I have no idea where I am. The fluorescent lights above buzz faintly, flickering like they’re struggling to stay on. I stare at the ceiling, trying to shake the fog from my brain. The remnants of a dream are still there, just out of reach, like it’s teasing me. I can't remember it fully, but I know it was intense—faces and sounds blurring together, leaving a cold, tight knot in my stomach.

I glance at my phone. 8:46 p.m.

Panic hits me hard. I’m going to be late. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Just an hour, a quick nap, that’s all I needed to clear my head. But now, I’ve wasted the evening.

I throw the sheets off and swing my legs over the side of the bed. The floor is cool, but the air in the room feels thick, like it’s trying to smother me. I shake it off. I’m supposed to be out the door, ready for my first solo assignment—visiting the nightclub, working my way into the VIP section, getting an invite to the afterparty. Simple, right?

But I’ve still got a million things to do.

I pull myself together as quickly as I can, trying not to freakout. The last few days have been too much, too fast. This city, the noise, everything moving a thousand miles an hour—it’s starting to feel normal, too normal. But the tension? The edge that doesn’t go away? That’s still there.

Lily’s at her desk, her back to me as she types away on her laptop. She’s got that fresh-faced college girl vibe, the kind of person who looks totally out of place in my world of secrets and lies. When I first met her, I wasn’t sure what to make of her. Too cheerful, too friendly, too open. But after these past few days, I find myself grudgingly warming to her. She makes me feel like I’m someone who could use a friend, even if I don’t really know how to be one.

“Hey, you’re up.” Lily turns her head toward me, that same easy smile on her face. “You headed out?”

I nod, swallowing hard to clear the dryness in my throat. “Yeah. I’m supposed to check out this bar calledThe Ravenwith a girl I met in biology. Seems interesting.”

She raises an eyebrow, smile still lingering on her lips. “The Raven?”

“I think that’s what she said.”

This is a lie, of course. There is no girl from biology.

“She also mentioned something about an afterparty…” I add, already mentally shifting into work mode. But Lily’s not done.

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