Page 144 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

Her eyes meet mine—what little she can see through the mask—and I watch recognition dawn.

Yes, Sunshine. It’s me.

The man in your phone.

The shadow outside your window.

The monster who learned how to love only you.

She doesn’t scream. Doesn’t fight. Instead, she drops the knife. Just lets it fall like it was never hers. Like she knew, all along, I’d be the one to carry the weight of it.

Her knees go next.

I catch her like it’s instinct.

One arm behind her back, one under her legs.

She folds into me like she was made to. Like every jagged edge of this world led us here.

And then she breaks.

God.

The sound.

It hits somewhere deep in my chest—a place I didn’t know could still feel things.

She sobs—loud and broken. The kind of sob that comes after your soul’s already left your body.

And I just hold her.

Tighter.

She’s covered in that asshole’s blood and her own misery, but it doesn’t matter.

I’d carry her through fire like this. Through hell.

And she lets me.

No resistance. No hesitation. Just… trust.

She tucks her face into my neck and cries like I’m her sanctuary.

And for her, I am.

Not because I deserve it—fuck, I know I don’t.

But because I’m hers.

I’m the one who sawher.

Saw through the performance, the cheer, the bright clothes and charming smiles. I saw the rage. The fire. The need.

And now she’s in my arms.

Mine.

The world is quiet for a breath.

---