Chapter 27
Micah
The cafeteria hums with the dull clatter of trays and the drone of voices, but all of it fades when Katana walks in.
Her hair is mussed like she barely slept. Her face flushed, her lips still a little swollen from mine. She wears exhaustion like a veil, but beneath it I see the heat.
She tries not to look at me. Cute. Her eyes skim the room once, then down again, but I catch the flicker, the way her chest rises faster when she finds me watching.
A faint tremor ripples through her shoulders as she sits, pressing her thighs together under the table. I notice every twitch, every shiver.
Marcy hovers over her like a bloodhound, sharp eyes sniffing for secrets.
I hold Katana’s gaze just long enough to make her breath catch, then let my mouth curl into the barest smirk.
She flushes deeper, ducking her head and staring at her tray.
My little murderess is burning alive and trying not to show it.
I let the smirk fade before Marcy notices. No sense in drawing the hound’s teeth yet.
Hours later, I sit in the chair across from Vale. The cuffs bite faintly at my wrists, leather straps tight enough to mock me. The air buzzes faintly with the hum of fluorescent lights. His office smells like polish and bitter coffee grounds.
My scars throb under the sweatshirt, a reminder of my last meeting with him. He studies me with that fake patience, like I’m a puzzle he deserves to solve.
“Micah.” He leans back, steepling his fingers. His face is too calm. The type of calmness of a man who delights in his little mind games. “Do you ever feel… an attachment to anyone here?”
I don’t move or react.
The silence stretches before he continues. “Patients sometimes form bonds,” he continues smoothly. “It can help them heal… Or it can be dangerous.” His eyes glint behind his glasses. “Do you have any… friends?”
It’s a test. A trap.
Even knowing that, the word curdles in my gut. My jaw ticks.
Vale watches the small flicker in my jaw and smiles like he’s just set bait. “I asked Katana Morgan the same thing at our last session.”
The sound of her name in his mouth makes my skin crawl.
“She froze,” he continues, his thumb rubbing the pen, savoring the moment. “She looked startled. Almost frightened. It makes me wonder—” He leans forward, his voice full of mocking curiosity. “What exactly rattled her?”
The cuffs creak as my fists tighten. I picture slamming them through his teeth.
His smile sharpens when he sees the twitch. He knows. Or maybe he doesn’t, and he’s fishing. Either way, he’s close enough to cut.
“If you were her friend, it could be dangerous… for her.” His eyes are intense, and though I’ve always been able to control my reactions, I can’t when it comes to her.
He sees it. I know it when his eyes darken with glee. He’s enjoying this. He always enjoys it—pressing on bruises, probing wounds, waiting for screams.
“I’ll find it, Micah,” he whispers, his smile thinning into something sharp. “The fracture in your armor. The name you won’t say. The weakness you think you’ve hidden. I’ll dig until it bleeds.”
I remain silent, staring at him with pure venom.
He holds my stare, his own fever-bright, almost trembling with hunger. “And when I do? You’ll thank me. You’ll beg for the relief of it.”
My silence slices the room open like a blade held against my throat. Inside me, the storm roars.
He wants to break me. He wants Katana under his microscope.
Over my dead body.
Vale thinks he’s the predator.
But predators bleed too.
And I’ll be the one to open his throat.