16
His grip was like steel around my wrist, the knife trembling between us.
The hunger roared inside me, screaming to be fed.
But there was something else now.
I twisted sharply, slamming my knee into his side.
He grunted, his hold loosening just enough for me to break free.
The streets blurred past me—shadows, lights, noise.
My heart pounded, not from the chase, but from the weight of his words still echoing in my mind
"You’re not the monster you think you are."
I didn’t want to believe him.
I couldn’t.
But his eyes—those cold, sharp eyes—had seen through me in a way no one ever had.
.
That terrified me more than being caught.
I stumbled into an abandoned building, breath heavy, chest burning.
I leaned against the wall, sliding to the floor, the knife still trembling in my hand.
For the first time, the blade didn’t feel like power.
Blood dried on my fingers from the last kill.
The pregnant woman’s face flashed in my mind.
Her hands clutching her stomach, her silent scream.
I gritted my teeth, trying to shake it off. But her face wouldn’t fade.
.
Why couldn’t I stop seeing her?
The detective stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the dim streetlight.
He didn’t have his gun out.
Detective
I’m not here to arrest you
I gripped the knife tighter, unsure if I wanted to fight or collapse.
He stepped closer, his voice low.
Detective
Because you’re slipping.
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