Chapter 3

I got up at six the next morning like always.

The spaghetti and the omelettes tasted the same, just like the past three thousand mornings.

While Eric ate his spaghetti, I sat across from him, just staring at him.

I watched his handsome face, the way he chewed, and the way his Adam's apple moved as he swallowed.

Eric caught me staring and glanced up at me. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing." I smiled at him. "You look really good today."

My smile must have been flawless because he just frowned a little and went back to his food, and didn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary.

After breakfast, I crouched down to help him get his prosthetic on, just like always.

My fingers brushed over the slot where the hidden camera used to be.

It was gone.

I had already tucked the tiny memory card into my pocket.

In that pocket rested all my hopes, and now, all my despair.

Eric picked up his briefcase, getting ready to head out for work.

He was the CFO of a company, the kind of success story people talked about.

Just as he reached the door, he turned back. "I won't be coming back for dinner. Company events."

"Okay," I said, nodding with a smile.

As I watched him close the door, my smile faded away.

I grabbed my phone and called Sophie.

She picked up right away, her voice cheerful. "Julia, good morning."

"Sophie, I tried on that costume last night," I said, my voice just the right mix of grievance and disappointment.

"And?" she asked, sounding a little hesitant.

"He yelled at me." I sniffled, my voice breaking with a touch of tears. "He said I was embarrassing myself and told me to stop."

There was a brief silence on the phone.

Then Sophie's voice came, dripping with fake sympathy. "Don't be upset, Julia. Guys are all like that. Maybe he's just not used to it yet. Don't take it to heart."

"Okay," I replied softly.

"Alright. How about I come over tonight and keep you company? We can talk about it. I'm free tonight," she said.

I could practically picture her on the other end, barely able to hide her smug grin.

"Sure," I said.

After hanging up, I walked into the bedroom.

I opened the closet, and there it was, the costume I'd balled up, just sitting there in the corner.

I took it out, folded it neatly, and put it in a bag, along with all those accessories and toys I never got to use.

When Sophie came over that night, I handed the bag over to her. "Can you take care of this stuff for me? They're just useless to me."

She peeked inside, a flicker of greed crossing her eyes.

"No problem," she replied without hesitation.

She had no clue that what she saw as "toys" would soon turn into the very evidence that buried her.

It took me three days to finally track down the props guy.

We met up at an abandoned factory.

He had a mask and a baseball cap pulled low, hiding his face. His voice was raspy, like he'd swallowed gravel.

"Did you bring it?" he asked.

I pushed a box over to him. Inside was Eric's spare prosthetic.

It took a lot of effort to dig it out of the storage room.

I said, "I need an exact replica: same material, weight, finish, every single scratch must be identical."

He opened the box, took out the prosthetic, and looked it over like it was a masterpiece.

He nodded. "I can do that, but I'm guessing you want more than just a copy, right?"

I pulled a design sheet out of my bag.

"I want it hollow inside, with a double-layer design," I said, pointing to the key part of the design sheet.

Then I added, "The inner layer should be made of ultra-thin, high-strength tempered glass, making a sealed chamber. And I want that chamber filled up with this stuff."

I handed him a note with "concentrated hydrofluoric acid gel" written on it.

He glanced at it and fell silent.

The factory was dead silent, with only the wind howling through the broken windows.

After a long pause, he finally looked up, his eyes suddenly sharp. "What do you want this for?"

"You don't need to know," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Just tell me if you can do it, and how much it'll cost."

He fell silent again.

His eyes, hidden in shadow, seemed to pierce right through me.

He handed the sheet and note back to me. "I can't do this."

My heart sank.

He added, "It's way too dangerous. This isn't just a toy. If the inner glass shatters under pressure, the gel inside will spill. Any living tissue it touches will be completely dissolved in seconds. No one could survive that."

He wasn't warning me; he was just stating the facts.

"You're planning to use this on someone, aren't you?" he asked.

I didn't answer.

He let out a soft laugh, like he could see right through me.

"If anything goes wrong and the cops trace this back to me, I'll be the prime culprit." He pulled off his hat to reveal a face covered in burn scars. "I don't want to go back to prison."

I stared at his messed-up face and blurted out, "Why did you end up in prison?"

He looked taken aback, like he hadn't expected that question at all.

"I got betrayed," he said with a bitter laugh. "I covered for my buddy, who promised he'd look after my family. When I got out, my wife had left, and my daughter was bullied at school until she committed suicide."

My chest tightened.

"I know how that feels," I said.

I pulled out my phone and played a video. It showed Sophie in a costume, holding Eric's prosthetic, making fun of me as she rolled around on my bed.

There was no sound, but the image said it all.