Okay, looks like the habit of killing runs in the Frost family. I stood there, my legs feeling a little like jelly, watching the crimson puddle on the asphalt expand under the glow of the flickering streetlights.
The road was empty now. No vehicle had passed by since the scene happened, except for Princess's car, which arrived six minutes after I texted her about what was going on. I could still hear the ticking of her cooling engine in the heavy silence. The first thing she did was check on me, her hands moving fast over my shoulders and arms, looking for scratches on my skin. She was breathing hard, repeatedly asking if I was okay, her eyes scanning me for any sign of trauma.
I was so sure that if Princess had seen a single scratch on my skin, there would have been two dead bodies lying on the ground right now. Her protectiveness was a physical weight in the air, thick and suffocating.
