Other than my brief foray to the cabin, Jack’s protective gaze feels like a ghostly, watchful presence, though I don’t see him on campus any more than I did before. It’s hard to believe, given how long I’ve watched him, but perhaps I’m even more attuned to him now. But his presence is not suffocating. It’s actually strangely liberating. He never tries to tell me what to do or where to go, he’s just there, like an extra barrier between me and Hayes, even though I rarely run into him when moving from one class or building to the next.

And perhaps as a result of Jack’s influence, Hayes usually leaves me alone.

…usually.

As he stands in the back of my lecture hall, pressed to the shadows at the top of the stadium seating near the exit, I know that Hayes is starting to grow restless. I too am acquainted with the feeling of an obsession taking hold, how its roots grow too deep to dig out.

And his obsession isn’t truly with me. I know Hayes has an affinity for me. He still sees me as the girl I once was, the one who survived a vicious attack from a prolific serial killer. He still sees my mask, and maybe he’ll never get a hint of what lays beneath. But we’re all just animals in the end. How long can those virtuous ideals of capturing a killer withstand his obsession if I’m the key to unlocking his prize?

I pull my gaze away from him and onto my laptop, advancing the slides displayed behind me with the remote in my hand. The image is one of a badly decomposed body in an open field with no tree cover nearby. I click once more for a closer shot of the remains, the body skeletonized but the bones still present and articulated. My gaze passes over the second-year undergraduate Scavenger Behavior and Forensic Investigation class. “What could a Forensic Investigator infer from the body in this state, given the environment pictured?”

Several students raise their hands. I point to Maisie, a quiet but smart, thoughtful student seated in the third row. “The bones are all still in place, despite the open location. Avian scavengers would’ve had clear access to the body, but other vertebrate scavengers would too. The skeletal remains would likely be disarticulated and distributed over a wider area if animals had access. It’s possible the body was moved there after insect colonization was complete.”

“Good, Maisie,” I say, and she beams with the compliment. “Potential confounding factors to this theory?”

She thinks on it for a moment. “Clothing, though there doesn’t appear to be any… Umm, weather?”

“How so?”

“Weather affects the behavior of scavengers, making it less likely that they would interact with the body on days of heavy rain or poor conditions.”

“That’s right. They don’t like to get drenched any more than we do, in part because of the caloric expenditure required to stay warm. And also because it just sucks,” I say, advancing the slide to one of Sunny Bunny lying curled beneath the low-hanging boughs of some pines, her fur soaked from a heavy downpour. She looks miserable, and I smile when the class laughs.

“In advance of class next week, I want you to read Haglund’s Stages of Canid-Assisted Scavenging papers from the syllabus and be prepared to discuss what the lack of skeletal remains can tell us about a decomposition site and potential time of death,” I say as the students start packing up their things to rush to their next classes. “And I almost hate to remind you, but final exams are in just a couple of weeks, folks, so start studying now. I’ll be extending my open office hours from two to four on Tuesdays and Thursdays until then.”

Students shoot me grateful smiles. A few hang back to ask probing questions about finals, but I only give them enough information to point them in the right direction. The rest is up to them and their own drive to succeed.

When the last students filter out of the lecture hall, it’s just me and former agent Eric Hayes.

“Agent Hayes,” I say, testing his reaction to the moniker. He gives none, which I find a little worrying. His lie comes too easily. “Enjoy learning about scavengers?”

“Please, call me Eric,” he says as he lands on the final step. His expression warms with pride. “And it was fascinating, but I enjoy seeing you thrive more.”

I give him my winning smile, this one sweet and a little demure.

Smiles sell, baby!

“What can I do for you today, Eric?” I slip on my coat and pack my laptop into my bag, casting him a cursory glance as he takes a few steps closer to the podium.

“I wanted to check in, find out how you were doing. I’ve seen you around but we haven’t had a chance to talk properly in a while. How’s the hand healing?”

“Fine now, thanks,” I say, glancing down at the red slash, the flesh still tender beneath the scar. Jack removed the stitches earlier in the week and I almost miss them, the way they’d tug at my skin and catch in my hair. Between their removal and Jack’s reacquisition of his lighter, I feel somehow bare. Exposed.

“I followed up about the broken award that Dr. Sorensen replaced. That was…surprising.”

I give Hayes a furrowed brow, tucking my papers into my laptop bag and zipping it closed. My fingers stay looped through the small handle to give myself camouflage for controlling my simmering rage. “How so?”

“From what I heard, there was animosity between you and Dr. Sorensen.”

I tilt my head, trying on a pensive expression. “I wouldn’t say animosity…”

…we only wanted to kill and potentially frame one other for murder some of the time…

Hayes gives a chuckle that sounds too much like a father trying to dig out information on his daughter’s bad boy love interest. “Well, it seems to have eased now. From what I’ve heard, you’re staying at his place…is that correct?”

“Word travels fast on campus,” I reply with a shrug.

“Then perhaps you can enlighten me as to Dr. Sorensen’s whereabouts the weekend before last.”

My heart pumps crystals of ice through my veins. Gooseflesh prickles across my arms, the frozen kiss of alarm tingling in my skin. “What’s this about, Eric?”

Hayes takes in a heavy lungful of air, pushing it through his thin, pursed lips. He wants to make it look like whatever he’s about to say is unfortunate news, but I can see the truth in his eyes. He’s excited.

“There was a body recovered last week, not far from state lines. It’s officially a murder investigation,” Hayes replies as he takes a step closer. “The man had a link to another victim of the Silent Slayer. But he’s from Lakeport, Kyrie. That’s not even an hour from here, in the Tri-City region. Disturbingly close to where the Slayer’s only survivor lives, don’t you think?”

I cackle an incredulous laugh, letting it die as though I’m astounded. “And your theory is what, exactly?”

“Where was Dr. Sorensen that weekend, do you know?”

There’s a long pause of silence. My shoulders tense. My brow furrows. I catch the fleeting glimmer of pity in Hayes’s eyes. “You think…you think Jack has something to do with it? Fucking Jack Sorensen, who has spent his entire renowned career improving techniques for catching criminals?”

My act is effortless. So convincing that I almost buy it.

And though Hayes might buy it too, it’s only endearing him to me, not to Jack. He looks at me as though I’ve been fucked out of my senses.

“Do you know where he was, Kyrie?” Hayes asks, his voice soft as he steps closer. I have to dig my nails into the red slash on my palm around the handle of the laptop bag to keep from strangling him with the strap.

“Do you know where Brad Thompson was?” I counter. “Since you’re so curious about my colleagues, perhaps you should start with the one who was recently arrested.”

“Dr. Thompson has an alibi for that weekend. I want to know about Dr. Sorensen’s whereabouts.”