"You know why?" I let my voice crack just a hair. Just enough. My fingers loosen on the railing and I let my shoulders drop, let the exhaustion I've been fighting show in every line of my body. "Because you'reright."
Stephen goes still.
"I've been lying to myself. Lying to all of them. Pretending I chose this when the truth is?—"
My voice breaks. And that part's real, not acting, because of the fucking heat and the smoke.
"—the truth is I'mscared, Stephen. I'm so fucking scared."
Stephen's face warms up and softens, which is the grossest thing I've ever seen. "You don't have to be scared," he murmurs, taking a step toward me. "Not anymore. I'll take care of you. I'vealwaystaken care of you."
I take another step forward.
Ten feet between us.
The catwalk groans and lists to the left. We both grab the railing.
"Remember the roses?" he asks, and his voice has gone dreamy and reverent. "Every show. Every single show, I sent them. Because you deserved beauty, songbird. You deserved someone whosawyou."
"You saw me," I whisper.
Eight feet.
"I've always seen you. The real you. Not the disguise. Not the boy you pretend to be." His chin lifts. "I knew the moment I heard you sing. You were meant to be mine."
Six feet.
Close enough to see the ruined socket weeping fluid. Close enough to see my grandfather's knife trembling in his grip, theBshining in the firelight.
"Come with me," Stephen urges. "The helicopter's almost here. We'll start over. Somewhere no one knows you. Somewhere you don't have to hide. You can be my girl, and nothing more."
He extends his free hand, palm up, fingers open.
It’s an invitation.
A command dressed up as tenderness.
"My songbird."
Above us, the rooftop access hatch rattles in the wind. Through the warped grating beneath my feet, flames lick upward, the heat so intense my feet are getting hot through my boots.
I take one more step.
"There's just… one problem, Stephen," I say, hesitating.
My hesitation draws him closer.
His fingers twitch toward me.
I grab his wrist and wrench the knife from his hand in one twisting motion that tears the bone handle free of his sweat-slick grip.
I flip the blade in my hand and his eye goes wide.
"Girls bite too."
I drive my knife into the side of his neck.
Right where he marked me all those years ago.