My fingers tightened around the grip of my pistol, but I didn’t raise it. Not yet.
“You were always better at being early,” he continued. “Planning. Manipulating. Watching. But showing up? No, Catherine. That was never your strong suit.”
He turned slowly.
He looked older now. Gaunt. Paranoid. A man torn apart by years of losing. His left eye was bruised, a long scar now marred the corner of his lip. But his smile remained. Twisted. Feral.
And familiar.
“Or should I say… Leon?” He chuckled at his own joke, tilting his head like a dog mocking its master.
“You really are him, aren’t you?” he asked, eyes gleaming. “The way you scream. The way you fight. You think I didn’t notice? The eyes.. The temper. The perfume.”
“You talk too much,” I said.
“Ah, there he is.” He leaned forward. “Th
