“Camila?”
The voice was too soft for the way it sliced through the chaos in my head. Too gentle for the blood-soaked room.
I turned sharply, breath frozen somewhere between my lungs and throat. My knees threatened to give out under me, but i didn’t move—couldn’t move. The voice was familiar, but hearing it here, now, made it feel wrong. Twisted.
And then I saw him.
Ethan.
Standing a few feet away, surrounded by the c*****e, like some grotesque painting come to life. Blood painted his shirt, his neck, even smeared across his cheek like war paint. His hands—God, his hands were dripping.
But what made my stomach twist wasn’t the blood. Wasn’t the violence.
It was the smile.
That damn soft, almost innocent smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth like he hadn’t just stepped out of
