Page 293 of Primal

The one I sank into Ghostface when he was choking Lana.

Fuckfuckfuck. What if I got it wrong? What if—

Kristy shrieks, jabs her finger at one of the screens.

A patch of woods.

Derek leans in. “What’d you see?”

“Pigface. H-he was right there. Mask, hoodie, everything.” She looks at me, eyes wide. “Did you—?”

I shake my head. “You sure it was Pigface?”

“I know what I saw. That fucking snout …” She turns back to Derek. “Rewind it.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Derek types, brow furrowed.

I step closer, pretending to peer over his shoulder—but the mark’s gone, hidden under his hoodie. His cologne—bergamot?—makes my gut twist.

Maybe I imagined it. Or maybe it’s a rash. A hickey. A bug bite.

What the hell am I supposed to do anyway—‘Hey, Derek, mind tilting your head so I can inspect your possibly murdery neck up close?’

Yeah. That’ll go over great. Let’s break out a DNA swab while I’m at it.

Derek mutters something under his breath and types faster, eyes glued to the feed. “Whole system’s lagging like hell.”

Kristy leans in beside him, breath shallow. “Check the timestamp.”

Screw the cameras. “Can you just open the gate manually and let us out?”

Derek pauses. Then his chair scrapes back. He stands—spins toward me.

I inch back.

“There’s a manual release behind the panel. Just need to dig out the access key.”

I shift out of his way. Pepper spray’s still in my hand. One shady move and he’s getting a faceful.

He’s moving toward a cabinet in the corner when the door bangs open.

A guy strolls in—no teeth mark on his neck, but there’s a fading tattoo ‘NO REGERTS,’ coffee sloshing from his mug. He freezes when he sees us. “The fuck—?”

Then he spots Derek.

“Steve? Why’re you here? Where—hrrrkkk …”

Red hits the monitors in a crimson arc—blood.

Kristy screams. I can’t. Mouth’s full of cotton.

No Regerts whirls around. Same agonized wheeze—punctuated by liquid pops.

Same wide eyes pleading. ‘Help me.’

Same gaping slash across the neck.

He claws at his throat—just like Jessica.