Julian watched from the window as Vivienne lit a cigarette with Carmen's matchbook.
One hand on her hip.
One thumb twitching—small, rhythmic, involuntary.
She wasn't afraid anymore.
That wasn't the problem.
She was comfortable.
"Something's wrong with her," Julian said, voice like sandpaper soaked in suspicion.
Carmen sat on the edge of the bathtub, slipping a needle under her fingernail just to see when the nerve would scream. She didn't flinch.
"She's not yours to fix," she said, bored.
"She's not yours to keep, either."
Carmen looked up.
Her eyes were ice. No reflection. No softness.
"She's mine as long as she bleeds when I ask."
Fifteen minutes later, Vivienne walked through the door, cheeks pink from the cold, cigarette smoke clinging to her scarf.
She kissed Carmen softly, eager, clumsy.
Carmen kissed her back—still watching Julian over her shoulder.
Vivienne didn't notice.
She was already floating.
Later that night, while Vivienne lay tangled between them, sleep-drunk and breath warm against Carmen's shoulder, Julian lit a cigarette.
His voice barely moved the air.
"She's writing it in her head."
Carmen didn't blink.
"I know."
"She'll sell us."
Carmen finally turned to him.
"No," she said. "She wants to be us."
The next afternoon, Julian followed her.
She wore a gray wool coat, the one Carmen gave her, and she walked like she belonged to something.
He watched her slip into a bar she never mentioned. Sit across from a man she never named.
Not a cop.
Worse.
A publisher.
When he told Carmen, she didn't flinch.
"She wants to write about the murders?"
Julian nodded.
"She's documenting everything. Dialogue. Patterns. Details no outsider should know."
Carmen's lips curled—half smile, half scar.
"That means she's trying to keep us alive."
Julian slammed his blade into the table. Wood cracked.
"No. That means she's trying to be the only one who survives."
That night, Carmen didn't ask Vivienne anything.
She gave her a revolver.
Held it out like an offering.
One bullet.
Vivienne stared at it.
"What is this?"
Carmen didn't answer. Just pointed.
To a man in the alley.
Tied. Muzzled. Bleeding from the temple.
"Kill him," she said.
Vivienne froze.
"Why?"
Carmen's voice didn't rise.
"Because I said so."
Julian stepped into the light, voice low and precise.
"Because we said so."
Vivienne's hand shook as she lifted the revolver.
Tears welled up, but she didn't look away.
She aimed.
Breathed in.
Pulled the trigger.
Click.
Empty.
The man sobbed.
Vivienne collapsed.
Crying. Hands shaking. The gun clattered to the ground.
Julian just smiled.
Carmen knelt beside her. Took her chin in one blood-stained hand.
"Next time, it won't be a test."
Vivienne nodded through tears.
And Carmen kissed her.
Not hard. Not cruel.
Soft.
Because this wasn't love.
It was leverage.