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I reached for the hooks on the wall and shrugged into a thin plastic coverall that whispered against my clothes as I pulled it on. The hood came up next, gloves stretched tight over my hands, sealing me in.

Careful didn’t mean hesitant. It meant thorough.

Only then did I step forward and grip the handle of the industrial fridge, pulling it open. Cold air rolled out, carrying that unmistakable undercurrent that clung to enclosed spaces no matter how clean you kept them.

He lay exactly where I’d left him, his body locked into that rigid stillness that came after everything inside you faded away. His shirt had darkened to a near-black where the blood had soaked through and dried, and the fabric was stiff and clinging in uneven patches. It had spread across his torso in thick, ugly blooms, cracking at the edges where it had pulled tight.

What was left of his face had settled into something almost unrecognizable. The sockets were empty—cleaned out, the surrounding skin mottled and dark, the edges torn just enough to tell the story. Dried trails had carved their way down his cheeks, brittle and flaking, disappearing into the collar of his shirt.

It always changed them, that part. Took away whatever had made them look human.

I studied him for a beat longer, letting my eyes trace the rest—the angle of his limbs, the stiffness in his fingers, the places where I’d taken my time.

Finally, I reached in and grabbed him, my gloved hand locking around his arm as I yanked him forward. Cold pressed through the thin barrier as he came loose with a wet, peeling pull where fabric had stuck, his full weight dropping the second he cleared the edge.

Adjusting my grip, I hauled him the rest of the way out. Dead weight always carried a stubborn heft, but I’d learned how to manage it years ago—where to grip, how to shift, how to let momentum do most of the work. His limbs dragged and knocked awkwardly against the concrete as I hauled him the short distance, the nasty smell of him sharpening now that he wasn’t sealed away.

The heavy-duty plastic tub was already filled, the surface of the liquid flat and opaque until I tipped him in. It shifted under the added weight, a slow roll pushing outward before settling again as it closed over him.

Lye didn’t react the way people expected. There wasn’t any violent churning or spectacle. Instead, the liquid moved around him in a thick, steady pull, dragging him down inch by inch—fabric first, then skin—until the edges of him began to blur beneath the surface. The reaction built gradually, more a subtle shift than anything obvious, the air above it warming just enough to register.

I reached for the long metal pole leaning against the wall and used it to press him under, guiding what tried to rise, forcing everything below the surface without ever touching him directly. The resistance gave way after a second and his body settled fully beneath, the liquid smoothing back over as if nothing had disturbed it.

I watched it for a moment longer, tracking the faint movement beneath the surface, then set the pole aside and reached for the lid, sealing it tight and locking it down before turning away, already finished with it.

Upstairs, she was waiting for me, whether she realized it or not, and I wasn’t about to make her wait any longer.

CHAPTER 26

SIENNA

The bed was absurdly comfortable.

Which was a waste, because my body was refusing to cooperate with the concept of sleep.

I turned over for what had to be the hundredth time, the sheets soft as a sigh against my legs. The pillow cradled my head like it had been designed by angels with degrees in ergonomics. The comforter felt like it had been spun out of clouds and money I definitely didn't have.

And still, I couldn’t settle.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his house rising out of the dark like some kind of billionaire cowboy fever dream. Every time I tried to breathe, I caught the faintest lingering scent of him on my skin, like the memory of his hands hadn’t gotten the memo that we were done for the day.

And then there was the whole fact that someone had broken into my room.

I was definitely still thinking about that.

“Absurd,” I muttered. “Truly absurd.”

Staring at the wall across from me, I couldn’t help but picture him on the other side. His smirk. His unfair wink. His ridiculously broad shoulders and perfect abs. The way his tongue had felt on my core.

I bet he slept naked.

“Get a grip,” I groaned into the pillow. The pillow, unhelpfully, stayed very comfortable.

I was mid-sigh, halfway through lecturing myself into behaving, when a sound lifted through the quiet. It was a low, barely-there noise…like someone was moaning.

I sat up slowly, the sheets whispering around me.

For one questionable moment, I considered the possibility of ghosts. The place was dramatic enough for it, and very old-money buildings loved a little flair. Maybe it was the ghost of a frontier bride drifting around in lace. Or a rancher who died too close to his cattle and refused to leave. I wasn’t even going to think about the possibility it could be his mother’s ghost.