Page 140 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

The next few days slipped into a strange, careful rhythm.

By Monday my body was repairing itself. The worst bruises had shifted from deep purple to a sickly yellow-green, though my arm and the bite on my leg still throbbed with every movement. Shifter healing worked, but it wasn’t nearly fast enough for my liking.

I texted Coach Miller.

Me: Family emergency. Going to be out for the week. Will update Friday.

Coach: Take care of yourself, James. We’ll adjust the schedule.

I locked my phone and set it aside.

“Done,” I said.

Jackson glanced over while pulling on a clean shirt. “I already emailed my professors.”

“You’re not staying the whole week.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice even. “I am.”

I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it again. There was no point. He wasn’t asking. So he stayed.

He read in the chair by the window while I dozed, worked on his laptop beside me on the bed, or disappeared into the kitchen and came back with food without making a production of it. On the same day Jason dropped off a bag of his clothes so he wouldn’t have to keep cycling through the same few shirts.

The days fell into the same quiet pattern. By Tuesday, the surface bruises looked worse than they felt.

By Wednesday, I was climbing the walls. I wasn’t built for lying in bed. The restlessness had me twitchy and mean, like my skin didn’t fit right anymore.

That afternoon I pulled the laptop onto my thighs and started flipping through files, half-reading, half-plotting, anything to burn off the itch under my bones. I was deep in Thomas’s routines, security patterns, the little gaps I’d been mapping for weeks, when I felt Jackson’s stare. He’d given up pretending to read his book ten minutes ago.

“You can ask,” I said without looking up.

“I don’t need to.” His voice was calm. “You’ll show me when you’re ready.”

I stared at the screen a moment longer, then exhaled.

“This isn’t something you can undo. Once you see it, you’re all the way in.”

“I’ve been in it since I buried a body for you.”

Fair point.

I turned the laptop toward him. For the next hour I walked him through the shape of the plan, not every detail but enough for him to see the bones of it. Thomas’s routines. The weak points in his security. The openings I had been waiting for. Jackson listened without interrupting, then started asking sharp, practical questions. There was no hesitation in his voice. No attempt to talk me out of it. He just leaned in closer and started making the plan tighter.

By the time we finished, we had closed several gaps I hadn’t even noticed. My cat purred low in approval.

I closed the laptop but didn’t move. One loose thread kept nagging at me.

Jackson watched me for a few seconds. “What?”

“I have to go back to John’s house.”

“Why?”

“I put cameras in there. Hidden ones. Before…” I trailed off. “Before I made my move on him.”

His eyes narrowed with that same dangerous focus. “To watch him.”

I nodded. “Learn the routines. See who came and went. Make sure no one would walk in at the wrong time.”