Page 62 of He Sees You
"Your father isn't evil," I say carefully. "He's weak. He believes in loyalty, in protecting his own, in second chances. He can't reconcile the Jake he thinks he knows with the Jake who does these things, so he chooses not to see."
"But you see."
"I see everything. It's my gift and my curse." I move closer to her. "Your father is hunting me for removing threats he refused to acknowledge. The irony isn't lost on me."
She turns to face me fully. "Is this supposed to make me hate him?"
"It's supposed to make you understand that the line between good and evil isn't where you think it is. Your father, the good sheriff, has enabled a predator for years. I, the killer he hunts, have stopped more predators than he ever has."
"Why show me this? Why now?"
"Because you need to know who you're choosing. If you stay with me tonight, you're not just choosing a killer over a cop.You're choosing truth over comfortable lies. You're choosing to see the world as it really is."
She's quiet for a long moment, staring at the files. Then she laughs, dark and bitter. "All these years, I've been writing about moral complexity, about good people doing bad things and bad people doing good things. And I never realized I was living in it."
"We're all living in it. Most people just refuse to see."
She looks up at me, and there's something new in her eyes.
Not innocence lost—she never really had that.
But illusions shattered.
The last of her restraints falling away.
"My father protected Jake, and Jake tried to assault me." Her voice is steady, cold. "If you hadn't been watching, if you hadn't stopped him..."
"But I did stop him."
"Yes." She steps closer. "You did. You've been protecting me from the start. Even before I knew you existed."
"I protect what's mine."
"Am I?" She's close enough now that I can smell her shampoo, feel the heat from her body. "Yours?"
"You've been mine since you wrote your first book. Since you created a character who kills for love and made him sympathetic. You were calling for me without knowing it."
"And you answered."
"I always answer you."
She reaches up, traces the scar through my eyebrow. "I'm not running anymore. Not from the truth, not from you. I came here tonight knowing what you are, what you've done. What you'll keep doing."
"And?"
"And I choose you anyway. I choose you because of it." Her hand moves to my chest. "I've spent my whole life writing aboutdarkness from the outside, observing it from a safe distance. I'm done being safe."
"Celeste—"
"No." She cuts me off. "No warnings about how dangerous you are. No chances for me to change my mind. I know what I'm choosing. Who I'm choosing." She rises on her toes, her mouth near my ear. "I'm choosing my monster."
The control I've maintained shatters.
I crush her against me, my mouth claiming hers with none of the restraint from before.
This isn't like our first kiss—it's a claiming.
She responds with just as much need, her nails digging into my shoulders, pulling me closer.
