Page 67 of Fatality

The hologram is still flashing, repeating the same announcement we've been hearing for the past three hours.

Homicides? Plural? Seriously?

That's terrifying.

And to think I was in the Lower Layers yesterday.

Was it him? Did he die? Or maybe he killed them?

It could've been someone else.

I sigh and shake my head.

Whatever happens to him isn't my fucking problem. I never knew anything about the Lower Layers before. I'm not about to get dragged into them now.

Because of Elyas, I relived the worst memory of my life.

Then that fucker came along and made everything worse by crashing into us. And now we're all confined to our homes for God knows how long.

Great.

I drag myself over to the couch and slump onto it with a groan.

The Lower Layers, the illegal street races.

Is that really a thing? Do people actually enjoy risking their lives like that?

Because I fucking don't.

I've done some pretty fucked-up shit during my teenage years. But this?

This is another level.

I wonder if racing had anything to do with Kyle's death. Maybe it wasn't an accident after all.

I shake my head.

If that were true, I would've known. The case wouldn't have been closed as an accident.

Being in that car, speeding through the city underground, racing.

I can't stop thinking about it, about standing frozen in the road, Kyle shoving me out of the way.

My fingers tighten around the water bottle.

Fuck.

I need to smoke, and I don't even like cigarettes.

I quit smoking Ghostleaf when Liam came into my life. But right now? I need one.

I wonder if I still have my old stash.

My comm buzzes, cutting through my thoughts. I look at the screen, and my eyes narrow.

My father, it's not a personal call. Never.

It's a fucking live interview.