Page 38 of Hollow

“And me?”

“You’re recovering from your illness. Staying out of sight makes sense.”

“And Flint?”

Something catches in my chest at the way shesays his name. Like they’ve formed some connection I don’t fully understand.

“Flint can handle himself,” I say, more sharply than I intend to. “He always does.”

She studies me with those pale blue eyes. “You’re worried about him.”

“I’m worried about all of us.” I check the herb mixture, avoiding her gaze. “This is ready. Let it steep for five minutes, then drink it.”

I pour the mixture into a mug and hand it to her. She wraps her fingers around it, soaking up the warmth.

“Thanks,” she says. “For this and... everything else.”

“Don’t thank me for helping bury a body. It’s weird.”

That gets a real smile from her, small but genuine. It changes her whole face, makes her look younger. Reminds me she’s just a person caught in a fucked-up situation. Not some abstract concept of “the rich girl” I’ve built up in my head.

“Fair enough,” she says, “but I’m still grateful.” She sips the tea, grimaces. “You weren’t kidding about the taste.”

“Effective medicine usually tastes like shit.”

“Is that another bit of your father’s wisdom?”

“No, that’s all me.”

She laughs—a short, surprised sound that seems to catch her off guard. Her face goes serious againalmost immediately. “Do you think Viktor will find anything? At the maze?”

I consider lying, then decide against it. “Maybe. Eventually. But by then decomposition will be advanced. Plants will have grown. Animals will have done their work. Even if they find something, connecting it to you will be nearly impossible.”

She nods but doesn’t look convinced. “Unless someone talks.”

“Who would talk? Only three people know, and we’re all equally guilty.”

“Are we?” She looks at me over the rim of her mug. “I’m the one who drove a stake through his throat.”

“And I buried him. And Flint helped. We’re accomplices at minimum. No one’s talking.”

The greenhouse is getting colder as the night deepens, the glass walls turning from transparent to reflective. Our distorted images are mirrored back—her small form, my larger one. Two people having a casual chat about murder and decomposition.

I switch on another lamp, casting everything in a warm yellow glow.

“You should drink all of that.” I nod at her half-empty mug. “It won’t work otherwise.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You just want me unconscious so you can get rid of me.”

“If I wanted to get rid of you, I’d have let Liam finishwhat he started.”

The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Her face goes blank, shuttered.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “That was—I shouldn’t have said that. I was trying to be witty and sarcastic, and it came out— Fuck.”

She sets down the mug, her hands trembling slightly. “No, you’re right. You could have walked away. Both of you. Left me to deal with it alone.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

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