It might have been the bad lighting, but I thought her olive skin went a little pale. “So this is the part where you kill me, huh?”

I should. Everything in my blood was urging me to kill her. Somehow, I knew that if I gripped her head the right way, jerked her neck just so, she’d be dead in less than a second. No blood, no fuss, and almost no pain at all. But even as my fingers curled into my palms, as cold sweat trickled down my back, I knew I couldn’t do it. Self-defense was one thing. This felt like . . . murder. Besides, there was something else I could do with Blythe.

“We need to take her to Saylor,” I told David. “She’ll know what to do.” I wasn’t a hundred percent sure that was true, but I was positive that I sure as heck didn’t know what to do.

David must’ve felt the same way because he shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Yeah. We definitely need an adult.”

It wasn’t that funny, but the whole afternoon had been so stressful that I burst into giggles. Surprised, David rocked back farther, but, after a second, a slow grin spread across his face.

“Wait, are you two really a thing?” Blythe asked, making David’s grin disappear.

“No,” he said quickly, and I shook my head so hard it was a wonder I didn’t sprain something. “No,” I echoed. “No, no, no, no. Vast worlds of no.”

I think Blythe would’ve said something sarcastic in reply, but David didn’t give her the chance. “We need to get you out of this building without anyone seeing it. You have anything for that?”

Blythe slumped in her bonds, dimples vanishing, big brown eyes going dull. “If I say no, are you going to staple me to death?”

David bent down and picked up the letter opener, tossing it to me. It was slick with blood—my blood—but I still caught it easily with my good hand. “No,” he told her. “If you say no, Harper gets her turn with that.”

It was a tone I’d never heard David use, and considering how long I’d known him, that was saying something. He sounded steely and grown-up, and threatening. Almost like someone who could be a superpowered . . . something.

But this was David Stark. The only threatening thing about him was his toxic level of obnoxiousness.

Still, it worked on Blythe. She jerked her head toward her desk. “Top drawer. Bottle of nail polish. Dab a dot on all of us, we’re as good as invisible.”

I moved to the drawer, and pulled it out before something occurred to me. “David, why don’t you get it?”