Page 61 of Knight

“Stop!” My fingers clench on my lap. “You’re making it sound like?—”

“Like they found exactly what they were looking for? A woman with no support system, no one to question her decisions?” He studies me with uncomfortable intensity, eyes alight with knowledge. “When did you usually message them?”

“Late at night. After the library closed.” Heat crawls up my neck at the admission. “The library closes at nine, but there’s always reshelving to do. By the time I got home …”

“You were alone. Unable to sleep. Perfect timing for someone to be there, always understanding, always available.”

I stand, needing to move, to avoid his gaze. “I get it! I was pathetically perfect for their plan.”

“Not pathetic. Human.” He gestures to the loose gauze on my wrist. “Let me check that.”

I allow him to draw me back down onto my chair, trying not to focus on the warmth of his hands as he adjusts the bandage. “What else made Michael’s disappearance so perfect?”

“Young professional disappears without a trace. No evidence of foul play. No ransom demands. The police would only give a cursory look into it. Disappearance like that … it’s usually pressures of the job, and results in the body being found a week or two later.” His thumb brushes over my pulse point. “A sister who would do anything to find him. No one else in the picture to ask the uncomfortable questions.”

“The night shifts didn’t help.” The words spill out before I can stop them. “My mind would come up with all sorts of ideas of what might have happened to him. Where he might be.”

“And I bet your faceless friend was there every time you reached out.” His fingers still on my wrist. “Understanding. Supportive.Caring.”

“The perfect listener.” Bitterness creeps into my voice. “I spent hours messaging them. Telling them every detail about Michael. About my fears.”

“They were building a profile.” Knight’s other hand comes up to cradle my wrist. “Learning what the best way to manipulate you would be.”

“I gave them everything they needed, didn’t I?” The realization burns like acid. “Every late night confession. Every desperate theory about his disappearance.”

“You were vulnerable.” His touch on my wrist gentles. “They knew what buttons to push.”

“Because I made it easy for them.” I hate how my voice shakes. “Those conversations felt so real. The way he’d remember the things I’d told him about Michael, about my parents. He’d remember things I’d mentioned weeks before.”

“Because it was documenting everything. Building your trust, and making sure it was an essential part of your life.” His thumb traces the edge of the bandage. “It’s the perfect strategy to use when you want to get information out of someone.”

“You keep sayingit.”

“Because it was a program, not a person. Programmed by someone who knew enough of my personality to make it seem real.”

“There must be other cases like mine, though. Other people alone and desperate for help.”

“Probably.” The gauze moves under his fingers.

My cheeks grow warm under his continued touch. This isn’t about checking bandages anymore. This is something else.

“I need to contact my brothers.” His voice roughens. “They’ll have discovered the attack on my building by now.”

"Is that safe?"

“Not really, but it’s better than letting them dig into this without knowing what is going on.” His fingers stay wrapped around my wrist. “The bandage is fine. I should?—”

A sound outside freezes us both. His fingers tighten around my wrist as he tilts his head, listening. The moment stretches, filled with the noise of the generator and my heart beating rapidly in my ears.

He releases my wrist and stands. “I need to check the perimeter.”

He walks to the door, without looking back. The ghost of his touch lingers on my skin, a reminder that under his cold exterior there might be a human being, after all.

I draw my knees up, looping my arms around my legs.

Was I chosen because I was alone? Did they watch, waiting for someone with no connections, no one to talk to except a stranger online who seemed to understand everything?

I don’t want to think about what that says about me. About the desperate woman who poured out her heart to someone who only wanted to weaponize her fear and pain. Or what it says about the person who saw my isolation, and decided it was the perfect thing to exploit.

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