Shana made a sound low in her throat. It might have been a growl.

Mr. Daniels shot her a nervous glance before continuing. “But I didn’t let him up. I told him to leave his name and number, you would be in touch.”

“But you told him I was out,” I pointed out.

Mr. Daniels regarded me quizzically. “Well, I had to. He wanted to see you, and you weren’t home.”

I gave up on the matter, taking the note from Mr. Daniels and thanking him for his help.

In the elevator, Shana lurched awkwardly as the cable car began to move, then stood rooted in the middle, face pale as each floor rushed by. Upon reaching my floor, she was the first one out.

“Fast,” she muttered. “Everything. So damn fast.”

We reached the door of my unit. She stepped forward. I obediently fell back. Just like that. As if we’d been doing this for years.

Once inside, we set aside our dinner, then quickly searched the space. No sign of the Rose Killer. The surveillance equipment also remained intact, masking tape still in place.

“I’m going to need a knife,” my sister said.

I led her into the kitchen, gestured to the butcher block.

She took her time selecting, not the largest blade, not the smallest, but the one that apparently felt exactly right. Then she pulled out the knife sharpener and set to work honing the edge of the blade.

This was it. Our moment was done. All the things we could’ve said. All the things we should’ve said. None of it mattered anymore. We were down to business.

Maybe my adoptive father had been right. I never should’ve opened that first letter so many years ago. I could’ve spent the rest of my life as Dr. Glen, never giving a thought to the Day family tree. Looking only forward, never back.

Shana shrugged out of her coat, opened the pizza box. Her blade of choice rested on the countertop beside her, within easy reach. I’d armed a serial killer, I dared myself to consider, but the thought remained vague, as if it applied to someone else. I’d broken the most notorious female murderer in the state out of prison. Then I’d brought her back to my apartment. A woman who could not bond and who was completely incapable of feeling empathy, love, remorse.

I touched my face with my bandaged left hand. Sensing the razor-thin lines I could not feel.