Killian stepped in with a bloody knife dangling casually from his hand, his black shirt soaked and sticking to his chest. The pale skin of his neck and cheek was stained with droplets of blood, a cold smirk on his lips and dead eyes. He tilted his head, looking at Kara. The shadows around him pressed in with domination even in the well-lit room, and all the blood drained from Kara’s face. I may have enjoyed the sight, but—how long had he been standing there? How much had he heard?

“You..!” Kara voiced her disbelief. I wasn’t surprised at the turn of events. I had been wary of what was happening, but now, as Killian strolled back into the room, this made sense. Killian wasn’t falling into a trap.