She didn't sleep that night.
Didn't even sit.
She paced the hotel room like an animal—barefoot, twitchy, whispering to herself.
The voice stayed with her. Always behind her. Always smiling.
"You need seven," it reminded, calm and slow. "Seven warm, breathing souls. They don't have to know. They just have to die."
Remu licked her lips. They were dry and cracked.
Seven people.
She could do that.
She'd done worse.
She pulled her red jacket off the bed, slipped it on, zipped it halfway. No bra. Just a black tank top, short skirt, dark eyeliner. The same look she always wore when she wanted something.
Only this time, she wasn't out for fun.
She was out for blood.
—
1.
The first was easy.
A guy from campus. She barely remembered his name—Toby? Tony? Didn't matter.
He had always stared too long. Texted her even when she never replied. Tonight, she replied.
"Hey. You up?"
She met him behind the gym. Concrete walls. Fluorescent lights buzzing above.
