Her

Eve

Felicia's smile didn't fade. If anything, it sharpened.

"My first shot," she said, "was a blade to the stomach. Straight in. Deep enough to bleed, but not kill—not yet. I planted Leon's fingerprint on the hilt while I still had strength. Just in case no one would care enough to bury him with me."

I stiffened. What?

"But that was only part of it," she went on, her voice silk-wrapped rot. "Because Leon wouldn't fall just from one blow. He was too polished. Too loved. So I set the second shot in motion."

"What second shot?" I asked warily.

Her smile stretched wider.

"Danielle."

I blinked.

"I had been feeding her breadcrumbs," Felicia said. "Soft, trembling words. Looks that lingered too long. Subtle cracks in the perfect-wife act. Not enough to alert her, but enough to plant the seed. Gave her the key to his shrine for her. Knowing that she would investigate."

She leaned forward.