Page 93 of Killing Me Softly

Silence.

A leaden, suffocating silence.

Pryce leaned back, exhaling softly, the sound almost delicate. As if she’d just set down a burden too heavy to carry. But it still pressed into every syllable, her words woven with resentment, yes, but also something worse.

Certainty.

The kind that leaves no room for redemption.

“Then I had to watch you climb that career ladder. Profiling the most prolific serial killers of our time, building a name for yourself, becoming this lauded figure in forensic psychology. When all along,Iknew the truth.” She gave a sharp, cutting smile. “That you were flawed. That you weren’t always right. And soon everyone will know just how flawed you are.”

Kenny’s instincts screamed danger. But he didn’t know why. Something was off. Felt wrong. A whispering unease at the back of his skull. A profiler’s gut feeling twitching just beneath the surface. Kenny shifted, just barely, a subtle tensing of hismuscles, preparing to stand and get moving. Hand all this over to Jack. But something else nagged at him.

As always, the need to knowwhytook over all else.

His time at Ravenholm had been brief. A detour in his early career. When he’d still believed he could change something. That rehabilitationwaspossible. That with the right interventions, even the worst cases could be salvaged. Children were children, after all. And even those who had committed unspeakable crimes deserved the chance to prove they could be more than their worst impulses.

But that time had been short-lived.

Because Ravenholm hadn’t been his real mission.

Back then, his purpose had been Jessica’s killer. His obsession, his failure, the thing that had haunted his every waking moment. The years spent chasing shadows had ultimately pulled him back to Ryston, back into criminal profiling, police investigations, real justice. He met Jack. Built a career. Then the Howells happened. A string of bodies, disappearances, overlapping patterns no one else had pieced together. He threw himself into the case, into unravelling the mind of two of the most prolific serial killers of the decade.Thathad been his focus.

Not Ravenholm. Not signing off on releases.

He had barely been out of university when he worked there. Young, eager, a small cog in a much larger machine. He’d been part of a team, his recommendations filtered, reviewed, rarely carrying the weight Pryce was implying. It hadn’t just been his responsibility when assessing patients.

So why the hell was she singling him out now?

Whyhim?

It didn’t make sense.

Unless—

It had never been about Ravenholm at all.

“So you released her to prove a point?”

Pryce tilted her head, a bird-like motion, assessing him. “I merely provided an opportunity for her to prove it herself,” she said as if she was discussing research, not human lives. “The rest unfolded as nature intended. And some of it Icouldn’thave predicted. That you, Dr Lyons, the man who put an end to decades of horror by leading the police to the Howells, are now sleeping with their son!” Her eyes flashed with cold amusement. “That really is quite something. I almost couldn’t believe it when Mable told me.”

Kenny narrowed his eyes. “Mable?” He thought back, then realised how much that name made sense. Child A. “How could she have known?”

“Roisin. At first. I’ve been conducting their little meet and greets in Ashbridge for a while now. Part of her rehabilitation. Then it was corroborated by Mable herself when she became a cleaner at your mother’s care home. You do like to talk when you think no one’s listening. Not even your mother.”

Kenny leaned back, covering his mouth with his hand.

“I didn’t believe it at first. So I had to see for myself.” She cocked her head. “Did you use faculty funds for that dirty weekend in Barcelona? I’m sure the Dean would be interested to know how you used her research budget to fuck your student.”

Kenny clenched his hands around the edge of the couch. “You set her up to fail.”

Pryce’s expression didn’t waver. “I set her up to be who she is.”

“And what is that?”

“A killer, Dr Lyons. Certain individuals are beyond saving. Some people arebornkillers. And no amount of therapy, drugs, or rehabilitation will ever change that. And people like you—” she exhaled, almost pitying, “—with your naïve optimism and blind faith in redemption, you’re the ones doing the real harm.”

She let it sit. Waiting for him to falter.

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