Page 47 of Undone

“Yes,” I answered, keeping my gaze fixed on my hands. “I’ve had it for years. John was with me when I got it.”

I slipped off my shoe and extended my leg slightly to show them. Agent Garcia leaned in, studying it closely without a word.

“Can you tell us about it?” she asked.

I hesitated, the memory lingering uncomfortably in the back of my mind. “There’s not much to say. I was young and wanted to do something reckless after deciding not to follow the path my parents wanted me to,” I said evenly, avoiding the sharper details. “John helped pick it out.”

“He chose the design?” Agent Roberts pressed, his pen hovering over his notepad.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “There were a few options, but he was the one who decided on the butterfly.”

The words were bitter in my mouth, the association now tainted. I couldn’t stop thinking about the same butterfly etched into the skin of another victim.

Agent Roberts flipped through the notepad, then spoke. “The women he’s been linked to all have… similarities. They’re independent and high achieving, wealthy. Several were nurses, mothers, or similar caretakers in some way. We believe this may tie back to his childhood.”

“His mom was a nurse… He wasn’t exactly fond of her. But why is he pulling me into this now?” I asked.

“That’s what we need to figure out.”

“And in addition to that,” Garcia said, leaning back slightly. “The last two victims displayed other details. We’re hoping you might recognize something, anything, that could give us some insight.”

I hesitated, unsure where this was going. “Okay…”

Roberts glanced at Garcia before continuing. “The first victim… she had earrings. Four total—two on each ear.”

Garcia added, “The second victim had a few fingernails painted, only on one hand.”

Confusion washed over me, my brow furrowing. “I don’t—what does that mean?”

“Everything else matches the prior victims,” Roberts explained, his tone careful. “The victim profile, the positioning—those remain consistent. These new details are deviations from the original pattern.”

They both watched me intently.

“Does any of this mean something to you?” Garcia asked.

I shook my head, then stilled. “I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”

Garcia hesitated, then leaned forward. “Would you be okay if we showed you photos? Only the details we’re describing. Nothing else.”

The room seemed to press inward, and my pulse quickened.

I turned slightly, my gaze moving to Dorian. His finger brushed against mine. But it wasn’t demanding, just a quiet reassurance. A silent question—Is this too much?

I focused on it, on the quiet strength it offered, forcing myself to stay in the present instead of spiraling into the nightmare of what John had done.

The need to know burned inside me. It wasn’t only for myself—it was for everyone who’d been affected by all of this. I glanced at Dorian, noticing the subtle change in his expression, the way his lips turned down. I took a deep breath, meeting the agents’ eyes and nodded.

“These are from the first victim,” Roberts said, his voice more cautious this time as he slid the photographs across the table.

The first image showed the left side of a head, a small stud and silver hoop glinting in the light. The next photo captured the other side—another hoop and a simple stud.

I instinctively reached up through my hair, fingers grazing my own ears. Two earrings in each, just like the photo. My chest was heavy as I tried to push back the thought forming in my mind.

Garcia exchanged a sharp glance with Roberts but said nothing as he pulled out the next one.

It was a photo of a lifeless hand, fingers pale except for the deep emerald polish painted neatly onto three nails. My stomach twisted.

“That’s…” My words faltered, and I cleared my throat. “That’s my favorite color. It’s called Evergreen.” My gaze dropped to my own nails, painted in the same shade. I looked at Garcia. “I don’t understand. Why would he—why would they?—"

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