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I nod, watching as she turns and starts walking away.

“Sienna?”

She stops and looks over her shoulder.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“There’s something that’s been bothering me about that night.” I hesitate, studying her face. “You already suspected I was behind the murders. And after reading my manuscript, you knew exactly what I’d done.”

Sienna doesn’t respond.

“Which means you also knew I was planning to kill Peyton. You knew exactly how I was going to do it.” I pause. “And yet, you didn’t try to stop me. You let me go through with it anyway.” My brows furrow. “Why?”

For a long moment, Sienna simply stares at me.

Then she smiles.

Chapter 40

One year later

The common room at Springview Psychiatric Hospital overlooks a sprawling garden, with winding pathways, wooden benches, and flower beds scattered across the grounds. It would be beautiful if it weren’t for the tall security fence surrounding the facility, a constant reminder that no matter how peaceful the gardens might seem, we’re still confined within these walls.

Still, it’s my favorite place to be.

Hence why I’ve spent the better part of an hour sitting at the same table by the window, watching the clouds gather overhead, hoping for rain.

Maybe a good downpour will finally make this place look more like the prison it is instead of the safe haven it pretends to be.

It’s been three months since I first arrived at Springview. Three long months of group therapy, psychiatric evaluations, medication, and routines so predictable I could probably recite them in my sleep. Breakfast at eight. Morning therapy at nine. Lunch at noon. Recreational activities in the afternoon. Dinner at six. Lights out at ten.

Rinse and repeat.

Around me, the other patients are finding ways to occupy themselves before dinner. A small group argues over a card game at one of the tables, while an older woman is working on a jigsaw puzzle she’s been trying to finish for the past week. Two men sit in front of the television, watching a game show neither seems particularly interested in.

Somewhere behind me, a radio plays softly, barely audible over the hum of conversation and the occasional squeak of rubber soles against the linoleum floor.

“Medication time, Max.”

I turn to find Nurse Mathews standing beside my table, holding a small paper cup filled with pills and another with water.

“Wonderful. My favorite part of the day,” I mutter numbly, accepting both.

She gives me a knowing smile. “I heard you’re getting a visitor today.”

I nod, tipping the pills into my mouth and washing them down with a generous gulp of water.

“Well, that should cheer you up. Open.”

I open my mouth, so she sees that I’ve swallowed her little happy pills.

“You’re always in a better mood after your visits,” she adds with a friendly smile, then glances over her shoulder before reaching into the pocket of her scrubs to pull out a paperback. “But before your friend shows up, I was wondering if you could do me a little favor.”

I look down at the book she discreetly slides across the table.

My latest release—Dead Girls Don’t Lie.