Page 47 of Savagely Scarred

He’s very methodical about the souls he chooses to claim. And extra meticulous for the ones he wants to stand by his side.

I glance at my phone again, watching the little red dot move across the screen. It’s almost near my blue dot now. I pocket my phone and cross to the other side to walk in the opposite direction that she’s going. I spot her after a minute.

She runs like she’s outrunning hell.

Breath controlled. Ponytail swaying. That determined little crease between her brows that used to appear when she tried not to cry.

I know every version of her face.

The park is busy enough to make her feel safe. Mothers with strollers. An old man feeding birds. A teenager throwing a ball for his dog. Noise. Movement. Witnesses.

Safety is an illusion built on distraction.

Her dog slows first, tugging her toward the shaded benches near the crosswalk. She hesitates, then laughs softly and lets her lead. Always soft for something that needs her.

I continue to walk on my side of the street until I’m able to circle back over to her side without being noticed. My steps are slow and calculated as I move to the tree lined path behind her.

She sits her water bottle down and pulls a book from her bag. A gradual smile spreads across my face. She still reads when she wants to calm herself. When she wants to escape reality. Fiction makes her brave because in those stories… the monsters lose.

She opens it carefully, smoothing the page with her palm. The wind lifts a strand of loose hair and brushes it across her cheek.

For a moment, I almost step out.

Almost.

But the Devil doesn’t reveal himself without purpose.

I move when she’s distracted. When the dog lunges towards a squirrel and she stands to grab the leash, muttering under her breath.

Three seconds.

That’s all it takes.

I pass behind the bench like any other man enjoying the day. Calm, unremarkable and invisible. I slip it between the pages right where she left off. A thin strip of paper. Not a threat. Not yet. Just a reminder.

I keep walking away, trying to blend in with the people around me, before I take cover behind a tree. My pulse remains steady in my veins, waiting in anticipation. Control is power. Emotion is weakness. That’s what she never understood about me.

I don’t react.

I orchestrate.

Olivia sits back down again and commands the dog to lie down. It obeys without hesitation and rests its head on its paws. She picks up her book, opens it and freezes.

Even from a distance, I see it—the shift in her spine. The way her shoulders lock. The breath that doesn’t come back out.

She stares at the paper and her fingers tremble.

Good.

Very good.

She unfolds it slowly.

You should have finished the job

There’s no signature. She doesn’t need one.

Her head lifts, her eyes frantically scanning the park. Searching among the faces. Searching among the trees.