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I cross to the narrow cabinets nearby. I pull open the first drawer and run my fingers over the collection. A cufflink. A motel key card. A watch with a cracked leather band. A ring. A cheap silver lighter. Meaningless to anyone else.

I don’t want anyone to know my name. Fame would stop my work, defeat the entire fucking point. I only need to remember that one cycle ended.

The children whose names never made headlines. Runaways. Foster-care strays. Girls people decided were easier to forget.

Because someone finally said enough. I’ll never know the people I saved. All I can give strangers is what no one gave my family: one less empty chair at the table.

Then there’s Jubilee. The one woman I didn’t save because she beat me to it. Somehow, she’s the one I got to meet.

The next drawer sticks before giving way. A brown leather wallet sits near the back, cracked at one corner, two faded initials pressed into the leather.

Ricketts.

I haven’t touched it in years.

A man who moved through wealthy women beneath different names, emptied more than their bank accounts, and left tragedy behind him.

A photograph is still tucked behind one of the expired cards. A little girl in a fairy dress sitting on the back of a horse, him standing beside her.

She never fit his pattern. Children weren’t his victims. Daughter, niece, family friend—whoever she was, she had nothing to do with why I chose him.

I glance from his ID photo to the newest picture on the wall. Something about the jaw nags at me.

But I’m tired. It’s been a long night.

So, I leave the wallet on top of the cabinet.

Another dead man. Another closed cycle. Nothing more.

Despite myself, my thoughts drift to the house glowing through the trees. Somewhere over there, Jubilee is settling into my carriage house with my traitorous cat. And for the first time in a very long time, the life in this room feels dangerously close to the life waiting for me above it.

Too close.

I stare at the photograph of her stalker. “Who the fuck are you?”

The board declines to answer.

But it will.

CHAPTER 17

Jubilee

THIRTEEN DAYS LATER

Oh, he regrets it so much.

Technically, I’ve been living on Gage Cannon’s property for thirteen days. The first six barely count. I mostly stayed in the carriage house, emerging around noon like a domesticated cryptid in search of coffee, cats, and snacks. For six days, I respected the boundaries of being a proper and very grateful guest. On the seventh day, Operation Chaos Queen launched.

Things have gone so wrong. For Gage. Personally, I’m having a fantastic time.

Right now, he’s standing at the edge of the sitting room, staring at me like I just played paintball in the Sistine Chapel. One dark eyebrow keeps jerking. His eye twitches. His jaw is clenched hard enough to crack a molar.

I wait for smoke to pour from his ears. Nothing yet. Disappointing.

I pull out one earbud, letting it dangle against my black unicorn T-shirt, and smile sweetly over my laptop. “Hey, handsome. You need something?”

Curled beside me, Marzipan lifts her head, clearly disturbed by his presence, then nudges my hand for more attention. I happily oblige. Four other cats are draped across the cat-tower beds, and Tartlet is batting a jingle ball across the rug.