Page 68 of Craving Venom

Her room is a goddamn mess.

Clothes are everywhere. They are on the floor, hanging off the chair, half-draped over the bed like she got distracted mid-change. Books are stacked in a lopsided tower on the desk, more of them are shoved onto a tiny bookshelf. Crumpled-up notes, empty wine glasses, an open laptop with at least fifty tabs running, a single shoe kicked under the bed.

I don’t know what compels me, but before I can think better of it, I start cleaning.

I pick up the clothes first, folding them lazily and tossing them onto the chair instead of the floor. A bra dangles off the corner of her bedframe, and I snort, shaking my head as I grab it.

I stack the books properly, shifting the heavier ones to the bottom so they don’t topple. A few papers fall loose in the process, and I reach down, catching the edge of a file with my name on it.

I flip it open, and sure enough, it’s my case files.

A slow smirk tugs at my lips.

I snap the file shut and toss it back where I found it.

I wipe the dust off her desk, straighten the notes she left crumpled. I collect the empty wine glasses and stack them neatly.

Then my gaze lands on the photos pinned to her corkboard.

And for the first time in a long fucking time, something beats my imagination.

Faith’s smiling in them. Some are candids, her caught mid-laugh, mid-eye roll, mid-something. Others are posed, arms slung around friends.

She looks… happy.

I don’t know what I expected, but it sure as fuck wasn’t this.

I move closer, dragging my fingers over one of the pictures. The girl in these photos—she isn’t the same one who challenges me at every turn, who throws sharp words like daggers, who doesn’t flinch under my gaze.

She isn’t scared.

And that does something to me. Something I don’t want to name.

I pull back, tearing my eyes away. That’s when I see a flyer, pinned haphazardly to her corkboard. State Penitentiary Halloween Party.

I huff a quiet laugh.

I fold the flyer back and drop it onto the desk.

I look at the gift I brought her and lay it down on her bed. Next to it, I leave a note. It’s not much. Just a little something to remind her that I was here.

That I always will be.

Then, I turn and walk out, replacing the lock with the same ease I picked it. Leaving her room, I make my way to the State Petitionary. This is going to be one hell of a Halloween.

Veridian State Penitentiary is drowning in a cheap, over-the-top Halloween makeover as I stroll through the gates. The air is charged with artificial excitement, thick with the kind of mystery that only exists when people are drunk enough to believe in it.

The grounds have been turned into carnival, each corner decked out with lazy horror clichés. It’s all for show, but the crowd eats it up, drawn in by the promise of a good scare and an excuse to act like idiots.

One of the bigger attractions is the “Hall of Illusions,” a mirror maze meant to fuck with your head. It’s fitting. This nightis one big trick of perception, where nothing is really what it seems.

Beyond that, there’s the “Ghoul’s Grotto,” an underground setup that looks like a horror movie set. People in grotesque masks lurk in the shadows, waiting for their moment to jump out and scare some unsuspecting asshole. It’s predictable, but it works.

Still, none of it holds my attention for long. Because no matter how much fake horror they throw at me, my mind keeps circling back to Faith.

The night drags on, and I find myself in the “Mystic Grove,” a section strung up with twinkling lights, thick with incense and the bullshit promise of fate. Fortune tellers lounge behind tables, waving their hands over tarot cards and crystal balls, selling people lies wrapped in mystery. The crowd moves slower here, caught up in the illusion that maybe, just maybe, they’ll hear something worth believing in.

I spot Faith before my brain even fully registers it.

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