Page 107 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

“No.”

“Boyfriend?” The hope in his voice was… frankly suffocating.

“No.”

“Kids?”

“No.”

“Hobbies?”

Declan blinked. “That’s not a yes-or-no question.”

Sebastian grinned. “Still. No?”

“No.”

Just flat. Dry. Like answering these questions was less irritating than breathing.

I walked sandwiched between them, trying to sip my drink like a normal person while mentally calculating whether I could fake a phone call or, I don’t know, spontaneously combust.

And the worst part?

Declan didn’t look annoyed. He didn’t walk away. He didn’t even raise a brow.

He just joined us. Solid. Calm. Like he expected this interrogation and was powering through it the same way he powers through a triple homicide.

Sebastian texts me no fewer than three times a day like it’s his full-time job to monitor my emotional unraveling with flair.

SEBASTIAN: Send me a picture of Detective Deep throat.

SEBASTIAN: Did you trip and fall and accidentally make out yet?

SEBASTIAN: Do not emotionally repress this into your gut. You need to get laid and I’m the bestie to make sure that happens. You’re welcome in advance.

It’s... a lot.

And yet, for all the commentary I am getting, you know who hasn’t reached out?

My stalker.

The one who sent me bloody crime scene photos.

Who gifted me a burner phone like it was a party favor from a true-crime convention.

Who emailed me a video of my own murder scene cleanup, complete with an ominous no-sound aesthetic and the artistic framing of a film-school dropout.

Radio. Silence.

It’s been days now. Nothing. Not a single buzz from the murder phone. Not an anonymous envelope under my door. Not even a sticky note on my windshield that saysI know what you did last Friday.

And I don’t know if that’s comforting… or terrifying.

Is he gone? Bored? On vacation? What’s the etiquette for when your anonymous crime scene fairy just... ghosts you?

The anticipation is eating me alive.

To be fair, I’ve taken precautions. Real ones. I installed cameras—several, actually, in highly strategic positions. And I had the locksmith come out.

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