A clean kill. Merciful, in its way. I stare at Wendell’s body, at the clean arterial spray across the plastic sheets. This isn’t what Xander planned. His meticulous setup, the mirrors, the tools—everything had been arranged for something far more elaborate. Something I’d interrupted. “I ruined it for you,” I whisper, the words scraping my raw throat. “All your preparation, your planning. I messed it all up.” Xander’s eyes meet mine, and I expect to see frustration, maybe even anger. Instead, there’s something else—a softness out of place in a room splattered with blood. “No,” he says, setting
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