They were in Arkansas when it finally unraveled.


Sienna had been watching Cameron more than their marks. He wasn’t the same man who once whispered “always” into her neck after a clean kill. He was… detaching. Slower to react. Slower to recover. He didn’t smile after the roses anymore. He didn’t touch her as often, didn’t sleep through the night.


She caught him staring at other women. Not with lust—but with longing. With curiosity. Like he was remembering what it was like to live outside the storm.


The final straw came at a laundromat.


Sienna was folding their clothes while Cameron sat near the soda machine, deep in conversation with a woman in her twenties. Red hair. Big brown eyes. Laugh like bells. She touched his arm when she laughed.


Sienna’s blood went cold.


She didn’t confront him right away. She waited until they were alone in the motel. Waited until the lights were off and the air conditioner hummed like white noise against the tension in her chest.


“Do you want her?” she asked quietly.


Cameron blinked. “What?”


“The girl at the laundromat.”


He sighed. “She talked to me.”


“You talked back.”


“She’s not important.”


Sienna sat up, hair wild, eyes dark. “You took her name. You wrote it down. I saw it in the notebook.”


Cameron hesitated.


“I was watching,” she added. “Because you’re mine, Cam.”


He stood, pacing, running a hand through his hair. “You think I want her? You think she means something?”


“I think you're slipping,” she said. “And it scares me.”


He turned. “You don’t get to be scared. You set the rules, remember? No attachments. Except us. So what do you want to do—kill every woman I look at?”


“If that’s what it takes.”


Silence.


Then, a low laugh.


“You’re insane.”


“You loved that about me,” she shot back.


He looked at her then, really looked at her. “I still do.”


“But?”


“But I don’t know if I love what this is doing to us.”


Sienna crossed the room, slow, predatory. “We kill together. That’s what we are. That’s what we’ve always been.”


He looked away.


“You want to walk away?” she whispered. “You want to forget everything we've done, everyone we've bled for each other?”


Cameron didn’t answer.


And that silence—that one pause—was louder than a gunshot.


That night, she followed the redhead.


Her name was Hailey. She worked at a florist shop. Lived alone above it.


Sienna watched from across the street, breathing slow and steady, a knife tucked under her coat, and fury curled around her bones like fire.


But she didn’t go inside.


She didn’t kill her.


Instead, she left a rose at the girl’s doorstep.


No blood. Just a message.


Stay away. He’s taken.


Cameron never asked where she went that night.


But he didn’t touch the journal for three days.


And Sienna didn’t sleep without the knife under her pillow.


Because trust was no longer the rope holding them together.


It had become the fuse.


And it was already burning down.