Page 61 of Craving Venom

She raises a brow. “You can’t just borrow a file.”

I shove my ID toward her. “I’ll pay. Whatever it costs.”

She eyes me for a long moment before sighing. “Fine.”

I follow her back to the front desk, leave my ID, hand over the payment, and step out of the archive with the file tucked securely under my arm.

I don’t know whether to feel victorious or terrified.

The second I step inside, I toss my bag onto the chair and sit cross-legged on my bed, exhaling sharply. The file sits in front of me and for a second, I just stare at it.

Then I flip it open.

The first thing I see is a photo of him, not a mugshot, not a crime scene picture, just an ordinary snapshot of a boy who couldn’t be older than ten or eleven. He looks young, almost innocent, with wide eyes that haven’t yet hardened with time.

I don’t know why the fuck I like looking at this picture. Maybe because he looks… normal. Happy, even. Not like someone who had the potential to do what he did.

I shake my head and shove the photo aside.

Two people are dead because of him.

I push through the documents. Transcripts, reports, blurry photos of the aftermath. The brutality written out in these pages doesn’t match the voice that’s been teasing me through a screen, or the stupid smirks I canhearthrough his texts.

None of this makes sense.

I flip another page, and a name catches my eye.

Gabriella Foster.

She was his best friend.

Without hesitating, I grab my laptop, flipping it open and sliding the CD into the drive. My foot bounces anxiously against the bed as the screen loads. The trial footage starts playing, the courtroom filling my screen, and I hold my breath.

“State your full name for the record,” Carrie prompts.

“Foster, Gabriella Leigh.”

“And your relationship to the defendant?”

Her throat works before she answers. “We are... best friends.”

“Ms. Foster, how long have you known Zane?”

“Since we were kids. We grew up together.”

Carrie nods, letting the familiarity settle before she pushes forward. “So you knew him well?”

“I’d say so.”

It’s deliberately vague, and Carrie picks up on it immediately. Her lips curve, but it’s not a smile. More like the barest baring of teeth. She reaches into the folder in front of her, pulls out a photograph, and steps toward the witness stand.

“Good. Then I imagine you remember this?” Carrie holds up a photo, flips it around. The camera doesn’t catch what’s on it, but it doesn’t need to. Gabriella’s face drains of color.

Her mouth parts, but nothing comes out.

Carrie doesn’t wait. “March 14th. You were fifteen. You and Zane were at a house party in Bellridge. A boy named Caleb Dent said something about your mother, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

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