Page 83 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

But as I step through the metal detector, waiting for the piercing beep or suspicious look from security that never comes, I realize no one’s paying any attention to me at all.

No alarm goes off. No one blinks.

The world continues as if nothing’s changed.

Conversations hum around us—lawyers swapping horror stories, clerks juggling paperwork, coffee machines sputtering to life. No whispers. No stares. No one looks twice at me.

And somehow, that’s worse.

As we walk toward the elevators, my phone pings twice—one from my DA.

BENJAMIN: Need to see you ASAP this morning. Urgently.

My stomach drops.

Then I utterly freeze because the second one is from the unknown number that’s been haunting me all weekend.

UNKNOWN:

I grind my teeth, anxiety boiling over into frustration. Enough of this game.

POPPY: Who is this?

Sebastian presses the elevator button. “One day Hank will admit he loves me,” he sighs, then glances at me. “You okay? You look like Judge Carter handed you a subpoena and told you to beg for mercy.”

“Just tired,” I lie, fingers tightening around my coffee like it’s the only solid thing keeping me upright.

Another ping as we step into the elevator and Sebastian presses the number for our floor.

UNKNOWN: You’ll find out soon.

My chest tightens. It’s not spam. It’s a person.

My chest heats and breathing becomes near impossible.

This is bad.

Sebastian snaps a selfie with his drink. “Oh right—‘tired.’ That’s what we’re calling it? You still owe me the tea on your client’s meltdown. Tell me she went fullLifetimemovie.”

I don’t get the chance. The elevator doors slide open—and things go from bad to worse.

Benjamin, Lieutenant Rourke, and Detective Declan Blackwood are standing in a huddle.

Detective Blackwood’s sleeves are rolled to his forearms, his jaw set in permanent scowl mode, his stance radiating broody intimidation. Every part of him looks like he’s in the business of arresting people.

Homicide is here. That can only mean one thing.

Sebastian steps out of the elevator, but I’m frozen in place, feet glued to the floor, staring blankly like a carved marble statue. The doors begin sliding shut again, closing like curtains on my very public meltdown.

Smooth, Poppy. Really smooth.

“Hey!” Sebastian shouts, jamming his hand between the sensors. “Girlie pop, stop drooling and go flirt with Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Fuck-Me-Hard.”

My brain short-circuits. Detective Blackwood nods at me and the other two turn and look on cue.

My body goes cold. My stomach churns.

This is it. Really it this time.

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