She looks on the verge of exploding, so I reign in my temper and demand, “Look at me.” Her big ass brown eyes stare up at me, and if it wasn’t for the crazed glimmer in her eye and the fact that she’s covered head to toe in blood, she’d look innocent and sweet. What a fucking lie that would be. “Drop the knife.” Her hand instantly seizes, letting the knife clang to the bloodsoaked floor. ““What’s your name?” I ask. “Sibel.” She pauses. “My friends call me Sibby.” A pang of pity stabs at me. Something tells me the only friends this girl has are the people in her head. This girl is alone—completely alone. Judging by her niche for lurking in the walls, I would bet money that no one that works at this fair is even aware of her presence. Sighing internally, I decide to throw the girl a bone. Don’t know if it’s because I feel fucking bad for her or what, but fuck, I guess I do. “You’re an interesting person, Sibby. But I’m going to need you to calm the fuck down. I can’t interrogate in peace when you’re over there stabbing someone like a cracked-out banshee, you feel me?” She physically relaxes at the use of her nickname. At me declaring her as my friend. And fuck if that doesn’t make me feel a little worse for her. Reluctantly, she nods her head, and after reassurance that I’m not making fun when I call her a demon-slayer and wiping an eyeball off of the tip of the knife, I hand it back to her as a peace offering. And then I go back to interrogating Mark. This time in fucking peace. “Mark, are you going to give me the information I need? I want to know where you do the rituals,” I ask, my voice as emotionless as my expression. “Z, | swear, I don’t know anything!” Mark lies. There’s vomit stuck on his lip from when he puked while watching Sibby completely obliterate his dear old friend. Shit was brutal, even I can admit that. I reach down, pick up Mark’s hand, dig the tip of my knife under his nail and pluck it right off. Mark screams bloody murder, but the sorry piece of shit hasn’t even felt real pain yet. “Try again,” I say evenly. He protests again, lying through his veneers, so I rip off another nail with the tip of my blade. When I position my knife under the third nail and lift, he finally gives. I almost laugh. The children he kidnaps last longer with torture than he does, which shows that Mark was always weak. “Okay, wait, wait!” I pause, lifting a brow and waiting for him to continue. His breathing is erratic as tears and snot track down his face. Licking his lips