You sit frozen on the edge of the bed, heart hammering in your chest as you watch him at the sink, his broad back turned to you. He washes the bl0od on his hands like it’s something ordinary, like it’s nothing at all. You know he’s dangerous, you always have, but the obsession in his eyes when he looks at you has always felt like love—until now. You can’t tell whose bl0od it is, and you’re too afraid to ask.