Page 116 of The Psychopaths

Not just afraid. Planning. Thinking.

The cameras cover three angles, with a blind spot near the sink—information I’ve stored for when I need it. The intercom remains active, evidenced by the small green light above the door. Arson will hear everything we say.

Perfect. Let him listen.

I already know what needs to happen. Arson’s jealousy, his fear of being confused with me, and his unexpected attachment to Lilian are all vulnerabilities I can exploit.

The one thing I have against me is time. I need her to lower her guard, just enough, to allow me to get close to her.

“He’ll be back, eventually,” I say, voice conversational as I lean back against the wall. “I bet he’s watching right now, finger hovering over the release button, wondering if he’s signed your death certificate or not.”

Lips pressed together, she remains silent and distrustful.Smart girl.

“I’m a little shocked at how easily you got under his skin, “ I continue, chains rattling as I adjust my position. “I haven’t seen him lose control like that since we were kids. Interesting, considering how little time you’ve spent together.”

There’s a slight shift in her posture—curiosity warring with caution.

Good.Keep her distracted.

“What did you do?” I ask, cocking my head to study her. “Besides calling him by my name, which was admittedly a tactical error of epic proportions.”

“Why do you care?” She breaks the silence, her voice steady despite her obvious fear, another reminder of the strength she hides beneath forced fragility.

I shrug, deliberately casual. “Professional curiosity. It’s not every day someone breaks through my brother’s carefully constructed walls. Especially not someone he intended to use as a weapon against me.”

“I was never a weapon.” Her response has an edge of defiance, and my heart swells when she lifts her chin.

“No? Then what were you? A convenient body? A willing participant in his revenge fantasy? The virgin sacrifice?”

Each question is designed to provoke, to distract her from the slight adjustments I’m making to my position. Each movement brings me incrementally closer to the optimal striking distance, which will inevitably bring Arson’s return.

“Stop with the bullshit. Don’t act like you know anything because you don’t.” Anger coats her words, overcoming her fear.

Perfection. Anger makes people careless.Makes them miss details they’d otherwise notice.

“I know more than you think.” I soften my voice just enough to introduce doubt. “We’re twins, remember? I know him better than anyone. I know exactly what he’s capable of, and all the terrible things that he’s done.”

A calculated approach—simultaneously undermining her trust in Arson while positioning myself as the one with answers.

The one who understands.

All while my fingers continue their barely perceptible work on the weakened chain links.

“Don’t fret. Like I said, he’ll come back for you,” I say, watching her closely. “The question is whether you’ll leave this room in the same condition he left you in.”

The threat hangs between us, deliberate in its ambiguity. I watch as her pulse visibly quickens in her neck, her eyes widen only slightly before she blinks and gains control of her expression.

“Are you going to hurt me?” The directness of her question catches me off guard.

No hysteria. No begging. Just a clear request for information.

Would I? Could I?

The tactical assessment is simple: create enough distress to force Arson’s hand.A scream. Visible blood.Nothing permanently damaging, just enough to trigger his protective instincts. To make him rush in without proper preparation. To create the opening I need.

The execution, however...

I look at her—really look at her—and I don’t even have to think about it.

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