He found her crouched on the floor, red smeared across her hands, wrists, the front of her dress like rusted lace. The man on the ground wasn't breathing. His head twisted at an unnatural angle. One shoe missing. Mouth open.
A pipe above them dripped water onto concrete, sharp and rhythmic.
Drip.Drip.Drip.
Adam stood in the doorway and said nothing.He didn't ask what had happened.He didn't ask if she was okay.
He just… looked.
Iris didn't move. She wasn't crying, but her hands trembled like they hadn't realized what they'd done yet. When she finally glanced up, she didn't look at him—just past him, as if expecting the world to rush in and swallow her whole.
"I didn't mean to," she said.
Her voice was low. Controlled. The way someone spoke when everything inside had already broken.
Adam's face didn't change.
"But you did," he replied. His tone was flat—neither cruel nor kind. Just true.
She nodded once. That was all she could manage. A strand of hair clung to her cheek, damp with sweat or blood or something in between.
He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.
The click of the lock echoed.
"I'll… I'll tell them it was self-defense," she murmured. "I'll turn myself in. I just need—" She stopped when she saw him coming closer.
Not running. Not helping. Just watching.
Always watching.
"You won't tell anyone anything," Adam said. "Not yet."
Her breath caught. "What?"
He crouched beside the body, inspecting it like it was part of a case file. His gloved fingers tugged back the man's collar, revealing a military tattoo. Recognition flickered in Adam's eyes—but only briefly. Then it was gone.
"I'll clean it up," he said. "You'll go home. You'll lock the door. You'll wait for me."
Her mouth opened in protest, but no sound came out.
"You're not in control anymore," he added quietly. "Not of this."
Iris stared at him like she didn't know him—like maybe she never had.
"You're not even surprised," she whispered.
"I'm not," he said.
A pause. Then, with terrifying softness:
"Because I knew you'd break eventually."
Her hands curled into fists. "Why are you helping me?"
Adam looked at her for a long moment. His voice, when it came, was careful. Possessive. Like she wasn't just something to protect—she was something that already belonged to him.
"Because no one else gets to touch what's mine."