Page 115 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

She stays curled up, fingers locked. I guide her hands and help her place the bottle against her neck.

Her eyes close. Lips part. She exhales—slow and shaky, like it’s the first breath in minutes.

It’s working.

She’s coming back.

But it’s doing something to me, too.

Something I won’t name.

I take a step back, needing space.

“You okay?”

She nods. Still pale and rattled.

“Good.” I nod back. “I’m taping the scene and calling it in. You’ll stay in the car?”

She opens the bottle, takes the tiniest sip, then exhales again.

“I’ll be staying in the car for the rest of my life.”

That earns the smallest smirk from me. Just a flicker.

“About fucking time.”

The leak isn’t just in the precinct—it’s in the courthouse too.

The one place I still believed in.

Trip’s death sealed it.

The warrant was airtight. Fast-tracked and quiet. It didn’t exist in the system until it was signed—just me, Declan, and the judge.

Once official, it entered a closed circuit. Only a few in the DA’s office and courthouse staff had access. People I’ve worked with for years.

Trip’s name was only in the supporting documentation.

Whoever leaked it—wasn’t a cop.

It was someone I see in the elevator.

Someone who says good morning with a smile that might be real… or hiding a knife.

The judge.

The clerks.

A colleague.

Someone I trusted.

Or used to.

I haven’t moved from Declan’s SUV. Still clutching the water bottle like it might ward off whatever’s crawling under my skin.

Outside, Declan leans against the door. Calm. Sharp. In charge.

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