Page 201 of Teacher's Pet

I can’t-

No. I won’t.

Cole’s voice is a distant echo now, a cruel phantom in the night.

“Here lies Anastasia Burns,” he whispers, his laughter curdling my stomach. “Forever remembered as the killer of Levi Trace-”

I strike.

The knife buries deep, silencing him mid-sentence.

The sickening crunch of metal splitting bone vibrates up my arm. The wet, nauseating squelch of steel puncturing brain matter.

Cole stiffens beneath me. A strangled gurgle escapes his lips, his body convulsing, spasming as his grip slackens.

I shove myself away, gasping, heaving, scrambling backward on shaking limbs.

My vision clears just enough to see what I’ve done.

Cole lies motionless, eyes bloodshot and staring, mouth frozen in a silent scream. The knife juts from the side of his skull, embedded deep, blood pooling beneath him like spilled ink.

His chest doesn’t rise.

Doesn’t fall.

It’s over.

But the shaking doesn’t stop. The air still tastes of blood and fear. And as I stare down at him, my breath rasping in my throat, I realize the worst part isn’t that I killed him.

It’s that I don’t feel a single ounce of regret.

Surrounded by the lifeless bodies of Cole and Walker, the fight in me starts to flicker, dimming like a candle drowning in wax. My body drags itself across the frozen earth, every nerve screaming, every breath a ragged gasp. The cold bites deep, seeping into my bones, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. I need a phone. One of them has to have a phone.

Walker’s corpse is stiff beneath my trembling hands. His blood has already cooled, his skin clammy, but I don’t hesitate. I rip off his shoes, my numb fingers barely managing to peel the damp socks from his dead feet. They’re still warm. I shove them onto my own frozen toes, swallowing down the bile rising in my throat. His suit coat is next. It reeks of sweat and cologne, but I pull it around me, wrapping myself in stolen warmth.

The tremors in my hands worsen as I search his pockets, my breath a shuddering mess. Then, finally, plastic against my fingertips. My pulse stutters. A phone.

Fumbling, I yank it free, my fingers slick with dirt and blood as I bring it up, trying desperately to unlock it. The screen stays dark. Face ID.

No.

My gut twists, panic clawing at my ribs. My hands shake so badly I almost drop the damn thing. Frantic, I grip Walker’s lifeless face, trying to angle it toward the screen. His head lolls back unnaturally, his jaw slack. My stomach churns.

Then-

“Jesus Christ.”

The voice slams into me like a bullet.

My head snaps up.

Jake.

We lock eyes.

His Glock is already aimed at my chest, unwavering, steady. A deep gash runs across his hairline, blood trickling down the side of his face, staining his shirt collar. The wreck left its mark on him, but not enough to stop him. Not enough to make him hesitate.

My vision swims, too blurry to make out his full expression, but I don’t need clarity to know the truth.

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