POV: Leo

The bathroom fan hummed its thin, mechanical whine. I stood with one hand braced against the cool marble countertop, the towel still slung low on my hips, water beading a slow path down the ridge of my spine.

Nora's voice spilled tinny and smug through the gap in the door.

I didn't move. Didn't breathe. Just listened as she laid out her poison, syllable by calculated syllable, the contract, the begging, the casual mention of Kesley's dead parents like chips in a poker game she'd already rigged.

The recording ended. Silence rushed back in.

Through the door, I watched Kesley's reflection in the dresser mirror across the bedroom....