“I’m not insane,” I said, stalking around the table. I yanked the dagger free from Scott’s dense head, wiped the tip on his shoulder to clean off the blood, and shoved it back into its sheath up my sleeve. “I’m mad. There’s a difference.”

“I—” Constance cleared her throat. “I remember him—the boy, Sammy, I mean.”

I took a step back from the table, eyeing her. For some reason, I’d hoped she’d been in the dark about the finer details of this particular project.

She licked her lips. “I don’t know how he got out, and I swear I didn’t know about Mitch, but . . .” Her body was trembling, but her voice was steady. Ballsy chick. “I can only imagine.”

“It was her idea,” someone said from the other side of the table. It was bony Melinda Jones. “We never wanted any of this. We called for a vote to un-chair her today . . . because she’s gone too far.” Melinda’s eyes burned with a feverish intensity, and her breathing picked up as she went on. “She’s led this board astray. The things we’ve approved because of her . . .” Melinda shook her head. “We’re going to set that all to rights today.” Her chest heaved with each successive breath.

I stared at her, sword on my shoulder and expression bored. As I blinked, I let a grateful smile light up my face. “Finally, someone’s talking. Thank you, Melinda, truly,” I said, nodding in gratitude.

Her shoulders relaxed a bit.

I sheathed Mercy and started around the table, heading her way.

The tension returned.

“You’re going to make this so much easier,” I said, running my fingertips over the knot of the leather bracelet on my left wrist as I drew near to her. Melinda started to spin her chair around so she was facing me, but I tugged on the slipknot holding the bracelet on my wrist. A fraction of a second later, the leather cord was wrapped around Melinda’s neck, cutting into her throat.

Gasps filled the room, and people leaned back in their chairs. Some even brought their hands up to their own necks. And what do you know, not a single person stood or lunged at me to help poor Melinda. They just watched, horrified, as I began to strangle the life out of her.

“This is what happens when you lie to me. Honesty is the best policy, after all,” I said, ignoring the bite of Melinda’s nails as they gouged deep trails across my forearms and the backs of my hands. I looked at Constance, then scanned the others’ faces even as I kept the garrote tight around Melinda’s neck. “I already know you were all involved to some extent. I need to know who oversaw that project. Who’s responsible for the disease?”

“Scott,” Constance said, pointing to the young man sitting two chairs down from her. “And Gregory.” She glanced at the man sitting to her left, then looked off to the side, deflating. “And me.”