The door clicked shut behind me, and the silence rushed in like a tidal wave, heavy and suffocating. I leaned against it, sliding down until I was sitting on the cold floor. My legs felt like jelly, my chest tight and constricted. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to block out the images that wouldn’t stop playing in my head.
Dominic had tried to get me to stay. His voice—low and steady, tinged with worry—had followed me all the way down the hall. But I couldn’t be near him right now. I needed space, air, time to think.
But thinking only led me back there.
The knife was still in my hand, its handle slick with sweat and blood. His blood. Adam—or Alex, or whoever the hell he was—lay sprawled on the tiled kitchen floor. His eyes were wide with shock, his mouth twisted
