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“One day, I’m going to find her and—”

“Clean yourself up,” he cut in, flicking the pocket square toward her. “You’re making a mess.” What he didn’t say was that Katherine was his prey, and when she returned home—and she would return home, was always drawn home—her death would be his.

But Alice made no motion to grab the swatch of fabric, and it fluttered to the floor, landing like a sheet over the dead girl’s face. Alice held Sloan’s gaze, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Sure thing, Dad.”

Sloan’s teeth clicked together in disgust.

The first time she had called him that, Sloan had hit her so hard that her body cracked the wall. Alice for her part had only straightened and given a little goading laugh and walked out, out of the penthouse, out of the building, and into the night.

When she returned just after dawn, her limbs were slick with blood, but there were no FTF patches in her hands. She’d said hello and gone to her room. It wasn’t until he left the penthouse that he discovered what she’d done: Alice had gone out and killed every blond-haired, blue-eyed girl she could find. Left the bodies in a row on the steps of Harker Hall.

He’d thought of killing her, then, had thought of it a hundred times since, but some urges were made sweeter by the waiting. Perhaps when he ran out of Katherines . . . yes, thought Sloan, returning the smile

He would save her for last.

Back at her third boarding school, Kate had read a book about serial killers.

According to the first chapter, most isolated acts were crimes of passion, but those who killed repeatedly did it because they were addicted to the high. Kate had always wondered if there was more to it than that—if those people were also trying to escape the low, some hollow, unfulfilling aspect of their lives.

It made her wonder what kind of job those people must have had, to need such violent hobbies.

Now she knew.

“Welcome to the Coffee Bean,” she said with all the false cheer she could muster. “What can I get started for you?”

The woman on the other side of the counter didn’t smile. “Do you have coffee?”

Kate looked from the wall of grinders and machines, to the patrons clutching cups, to the sign above the door. “Yes.”

“Well?” said the woman impatiently. “What kind of coffee do you have?”

“There’s a board on the wall over there—”

“Isn’t it your job? To know?”

Kate took a steadying breath and looked down at her nails, studying the faint stains of black from the blood of the monster she’d slayed the night before, as she reminded herself that this was just a job.

Her fifth job in six months.

“Tell you what,” she said with a smile. “Why don’t I get you our best-selling blend.”

It wasn’t a question. Deep down, most people didn’t want to make decisions. They liked the illusion of control, without the consequences. She’d learned that from her father.

The woman nodded brusquely and trudged over to stand with the huddled mass waiting for their orders. Kate wondered who was more addicted to their high, serial killers or coffee addicts.

“Next!” she called.

Teo appeared, his blue hair spiked like a flame above his head. “You’ve got to see this,” he said, pushing his tablet across the counter. And where there was Teo . . . her gaze flicked past him to the corner booth and saw Bea’s curly brown hair, Liam’s purple beanie.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “Do you want to place an order? Since I’m at work,” she added, as if the apron and the spot behind the counter and the line of customers didn’t make it obvious.

Teo flashed a mischievous grin. “Triple half-sweet, nonfat caramel macchiato—”

“Now you’re just being obnoxious—”

“—with sugar-free whipped cream. Put it on my tab.”

“You don’t have a tab.”

“Aw.” Teo gave an exaggerated sigh as he withdrew a crumpled bill. “I asked you to start one for me.”

“And in the interest of not getting fired—again—I didn’t.” As she took the cash, her gaze flicked down to the tablet. She caught the edge of a headline—A NEW CRIME SCENE—and her pulse ticked up. This, this was the high that killers and coffee-addicts hunted for. “Go sit down.”

Teo obediently withdrew and as soon as the line was clear, she made his damn drink and ducked out from behind the counter.

“I’m going on break,” she said, tearing off the apron and heading to the corner booth where the motley crew of Wardens had taken up residence.

She slammed down the macchiato and dropped into an open chair. “What are you doing here?”

“Manners,” said Bea, who’d gotten her the job.

“Macchiato!” said Teo cheerfully.

Liam was busy counting out chocolate-covered espresso beans and popping them into his mouth one by one. “Relax,” he said, “it’s not like anyone’s gonna figure out you have an alter ego.”

“Please stop talking.”

“Bad barista by day,” said Teo in a stage whisper, “badass monster hunter by night.”

This was why Kate worked alone. Because the only thing worse than having a secret was letting other people in on it. But the Wardens were like quicksand: the harder she fought, the deeper she sank. They took her standoffishness and rolled with it, even seemed to find it endearing. Which only made her prickle more.