Page 52 of Lovely Violent Things

The press conference is over, but the task force hasn’t yet resumed operation, as evident in the empty halls of the forensic department. The on-duty officers are posted at the opposite side of the building to handle the media, giving me a short window of time.

My footsteps echo against the cinderblock walls, sounding too loud in the stillness.

I realize what I’m about to do will answer that terrifying question: Knowing the truth about Kallum will not change how I feel.

I once accused Kallum of having no soul to sell. But the truth has always been that I’m the soulless one. When I lost my family—my parents, Jackson, our baby—my soul died with them.

The arrows on the wall guide me on a one-way course I initiated myself. Because once I do this, there’s no turning back.

Yet I don’t focus on what most other crime solvers focus on. DNA. Fibers. Fingerprints. Hard evidence that cannot be refuted in a court of law.

I find evidence in behavior.

And the behavior of the perpetrator who placed the carving knife in the ravine, in a location sacred to the Overman, says that Kallum is not the one who committed the Harbinger murder.

At least, not this one.

For once, I agree with Kallum. The antlers and the knife discovered together is the most conveniently recovered evidence I’ve ever witnessed. They might as well have been gift wrapped.

Hard, factual evidence can be misused. Can even be falsified. That is why we have to sometimes look beyond what we can touch and see as fact. We have to question the evidence itself.

What I know is that, at some point between when I placed the knife in my bag and my hotel room safe, the knife was removed. Someone had a purpose for it, and the only logical purpose is to frame either me or Kallum.

I’m giving in to his way of thinking, which is terrifying all on its own, but it’s also the only explanation. And since I have a near airtight alibi, framing Kallum to remove him from the case—from me—is the only other logical motive.

I can still feel the lingering burn of Kallum’s touch. Still taste him on my lips. I completely surrendered to him and, this time, I have no mind-altering ritual to cast blame. There’s a thread of uncertainty spun around my heart, tightening as the small voice of my conscience whispers that I’m acting on emotion and not reason.

Just as I made a conscious choice last night to delete that email, to remain in the dark about Kallum’s past, I’m tangled in his web, yearning for the venomous bite that will shut out the world and its pain.

The fight to deny how he makes me feel, the inexplicable connection we share, has been bled from my veins.

I’m no longer slipping over the edge—I’ve leapt straight into the abyss.

Having Kallum locked away for murder has been my obsession since he first trapped me in his clashing gaze. All I have to do to escape is look away when the evidence comes back and Kallum is arrested. All I have to do is not speak up, not give him an alibi…

And he’ll be removed from my life.

The most terrifying part is how hollow that revelation makes me feel.

Kallum can’t be put away like this, with false evidence, without proving he’s actually guilty. I’ll never be free of him if that happens.

I draw closer to the moment of no return as I round the corner with persistent steps toward the lab.

I’m about to break the law to protect Kallum Locke.

The goddamn devil owns my soul, after all.

“Maybe after this I’ll commit myself,” I mutter under my breath, and the realization hits me with resounding clarity.

The hospital.

After the attack by Landry, the only time I can recall my bag not being in my possession was when I was admitted to the emergency room. It had to be stored in the front office.

Conviction speeds my steps until I’m standing outside the main forensic lab entrance. Through the glass partition, I see the evidence racks, but my canvas bag isn’t visible.

My gaze lands on the cart in the middle of the room. Bagged and sitting directly on top as priority to be processed is the carving knife.

I look up at the security camera, the bubble eye pinning me where I stand.

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