Page 22 of Peak Cruelty

There’s a beat.He shrugs, as though that makes perfect sense, then keeps scrolling.Eyes flick once toward the garage.Curiosity passes over his features.“That’s odd.Says right here I’m supposed to complete the work today.”

I tighten my grip on the wrench.Just in case this turns.

I could kill him.Easily.Quietly.Drag the body out to the bluff.Let the ocean do what it does best.

But I don’t.Not yet.

Because there’s a chance this is coincidence.A work order from whoever actually owns the place.

He’s just doing his job.

And I’ve got bigger problems than a corpse with DrainCo credentials.

“Tell you what,” I say.“Come back next week.We’ll be gone by then.”

His smile falters.He hesitates.He wants to argue, but decides the paycheck’s not worth the scene.

“Sure thing,” he says, turning back to the van.“I’ll just mark the order incomplete.”

I watch him all the way down the drive.

He doesn’t look back.

I don’t move until the taillights disappear.

Leave it to fate to show up in a work van and khakis.

Back inside, the air feels different.

Down the hall, she hasn’t moved.Eyes open.Watching the ceiling like it might offer answers.

She looks over at me.Doesn’t say anything.

But she knows.The look in her eyes says it all:you’re not as untouchable as you think.

I take the plate of food I brought and drop it in the trash—louder than necessary.Let her hear what she’s not getting.Because she’s not wrong.And that’s the problem.The more she gets right, the faster this needs to end.

I watch her for a long second.“Today’s not your lucky day, I’m afraid.”

She doesn’t respond.Just turns her attention back to the ceiling, which is confirmation enough.

I move to the side of the bed.No threats.No noise.Just presence.

“You should know something,” I say.

She shifts—just slightly—but it’s enough.

“You flinch better than you lie.”

This time, she looks at me.

Not like a victim.

Like she’s wondering how many of my bones she can break from where she’s lying.

And I almost admire that.Almost.

Then she says it—soft, as though it’s not meant for me.

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