I smoothed the heavy velvet duvet over Ethan’s chest, covering his twitching hand just in time.

I stepped back from the bed, my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird.

The heavy oak door swung open with a low creak.

Jason stood in the doorway.

He wore his expensive charcoal suit, but his tie was loosened, and his hair was slightly damp from the rain outside.

He smelled of wet wool and expensive scotch.

His eyes darted from me to the bed, sharp and calculating.

“Is it done?” he whispered.

His voice was low, barely louder than the rattling of the window glass.

I forced my face to remain blank, keeping my hands hidden in my pockets.

“He had another spasm,” I lied, keeping my voice soft and steady.

“I was just checking his pulse to see if he was settling down.”

Jason took two steps into the room.

His leather shoes made no sound on the thick Persian rug, but the floorboard near the dresser groaned under his weight.

He leaned over the bed, staring down at his cousin’s pale face.