Lucas POV
I slip away from Alissia, the cool midday air clinging to my skin as I leave her sitting on that bench, her mind clearly spinning from our conversation. She has no idea what she’s getting into. That much is obvious from the way her eyes widened when I explained what happens during a real murder—the mess, the loss of control. She probably thought it was like in the movies, neat and clean. But it’s not. Death is chaos.
The way her expression changed when I told her about the bodily fluids—that was when I knew. She thinks it’s simple. She thinks I walk in, shoot someone, and it’s over. But it’s never that easy. Murder is an art, and like any masterpiece, it requires time, patience, and precision. In a way, it’s a lot like stalking. Not the person necessarily, but the location, the
