Page 155 of Cold Mercy

He pulls out a device and hits play, and suddenly Thomas’s voice fills the room, stripped of the softness he showed me and replaced by something cruel.

“Subject displays persistent arrogance and a distorted sense of moral superiority. Exhibits entitlement inconsistent with actual power or status.”

My stomach tightens.

“She presents herself as a grieving partner, but the behavior does not align with genuine loss. Affective responses appear rehearsed. Calculated. The evidence suggests the subject likely commissioned Mercer's execution to seize his capital and shares, ensuring her continued operation within the Aurora. She carries herself like a widow collecting a payout she never earned.”

The words land one by one, precise and merciless.

“No visible remorse. No accountability. Strong indicators of narcissistic traits, possibly reinforced by long-term victim positioning. Subject demonstrates emotional volatility beneath a controlled exterior. Grandiosity masked as self-protection. Reality distortion likely.”

The recording pauses for half a second.

“Conclusion: Subject’s psychological defenses are brittle. Resistance is performative. With sustained proximity, breaking her sense of control should be efficient.”

A quiet exhale came from Thomas's mouth, almost bored.

“Mission engagement authorized.”

Silly girl, so full of need, you let him plant the poison seed. Did you really think he’d care, for a broken thing beyond repair?

Blood roars in my ears so loudly I can barely hear myself think. My hands are shaking, my chest feels split open, but my eyes won’t leave Thomas. He’s looking at me like a man watching his own execution in slow motion. I can’t feel anything except the sound of his voice slicing me apart.

“I let you in,” I choke out. “I trusted you. I let you see things no one else ever did.”

Tears spill hot and fast, blinding me, but I refuse to look away from him.

“I thought I was finally safe, that I was finally loved. But I was just a job, wasn't I? A fucking puzzle to solve.”

My voice drops to a whisper, heavy with a betrayal that feels like death.

“To me…it was everything. To you, I was just a mission objective you had to fuck to figure out. And all this time…you were taking notes like I was some fucking case study.”

I wipe the tears from my face with a violent, shaking hand, smearing blood and dirt across my cheek.

“You’re dead to me,” I whisper, the words trembling but absolute. “Do you hear me, Collins? You're a fucking dog who should be kept on a leash.”

I’m pointing a trembling finger at his bloodied face, screaming through the tears blinding me.

“I hate you. Do you hear me? You are fucking nobody to me. I wish you would just die right here,” I spit, the venom in my voice surprising even me. “Go ahead, make yourself useful for once.”

It wasn't the ghosts of my past I had to fear. It wasn't Sterling or shadows I saw in the corners of my room. It was him. All this time, the true villain was sleeping in my bed. He is the architect of my ruin, the most dangerous monster of them all because he made me love the knife before he twisted it.

Thomas lifts his head, and his face is a mask of blood, sweat, and grime. He looks at me, his eyes wide and desperate, as he shakes his head with a frantic, pleading motion. His lips part, trying to form words, trying to deny it.

I feel a wave of nausea. Even now, bleeding out on the concrete, he’s trying to do it. He’s trying to manipulate me one last time, trying to feed me more lies with that look that simulates love so perfectly.

“Well,” Noah draws, stepping into the space between us. A cruel, satisfied smile curls his lips as he looks from my shattered face to Thomas’s desperation. “Look at that. The problem seems to have solved itself. Isn't that lovely?”

Thomas opens his mouth, a guttural sound rising in his throat, desperate to speak, desperate to reach me.

“Ah, ah,” Noah tuts. “Enough of that.”

He jams the cold, steel barrel of his gun straight into the open bullet wound in Thomas’s thigh and twists.

Thomas chokes on a scream, his body convulsing in agony, effectively silenced by the blinding pain.

“Much better,” Noah whispers.