Page 58 of The Final Cut

Outside, rain threads down the windows, softening the marsh to gray. Deacon took Reva out in the skiff almost an hour ago. Ever returned from the dock five minutes later with his face locked down and his temper tucked away. He is somewhere near the back entrance now, pretending to check cameras while checking the water every thirty seconds.

Reva needed space. That does not mean I like these empty rooms she left behind.

The image from the hospital slides in before I can block it.

Pale blue scrubs.

Pretty face.

Too fucking young.

The girl had come around the corner during shift change with a badge that scanned, a clipboard tucked against her chest, and shoes too clean for someone twelve hours into a hospital shift. Deacon saw her first. I saw him see her. That half second before his body changed was enough to put ice under my skin.

She smiled at the nurse by the station.

Then her fingers slid toward her pocket.

Deacon moved.

No warning. No wasted motion. One hand over her mouth, the other at her wrist, steering her through the nearest supply-room door like they were lovers slipping away from a party. I followed because my body understood before my brain did.

By the time I got inside, the syringe was on the floor.

So was she.

Deacon’s hand was at her throat. Her eyes were open. One of them had a little fleck of gold near the pupil. I remember that because the mind is a bastard.

He looked up at me and said, “Leave.”

I didn’t, but I should have.

Nash sets his coffee down.

“You saw the nurse Isabel sent,” he says.

The words pull me back.

I rub both hands over my face. “She was a kid.”

“She was La Rosa.”

“El Sindicato de la Rosa,” I say, because if I say the full name, maybe it will sound like an enemy instead of a church function with knives. “The Syndicate of the Rose. Pretty words. Pretty girls. Pretty dead things.”

Nash’s jaw tightens.

“That’s her trick,” I say. “Isabel uses women wherever she can. Young ones. Soft ones. The kind people hesitate over.” My mouth twists. “I love women. Turns out that’s a weakness she can use.”

“Compassion isn’t weakness.”

“Tell that to the girl in the supply-room closet.”

Nash’s face goes harder, but his voice stays even. “Deacon made the call before you had to.”

“That’s the part I keep chewing on.” I look at the rain sliding down the glass. “I’m dangerous. I know I’m dangerous. I’m not confused about the man in the mirror. But if Deacon hadn’t moved first, I don’t know if I would’ve been fast enough.”

“You would have.”

The answer comes from behind me.