I can read Brunsley's expressions fairly easily as I talk him through it all. Interest, which fades into apprehension, which turns into a furrowed brow of concern.

"Well," Brunsley speaks slowly, his eyes darting around the room in contemplation, "everything you said, it certainly makes sense. But sending you back home while a killer's on the loose and knows exactly how to get to you... Holly, if anything were to go wrong, I'd be to blame. You remember what happened in the garden that morning, don't you? How's that holding up?"

I frown slightly, resisting the urge to feel that delicate patch of my skin.

"I'm fine," I retort firmly. "And yes, I know that it could've gone a lot worse. But I'm not talking about then. I'm talking about now. I'm pretty sure you know that the only chance you have at catching the RoseBlood Killer is if I go to them. There's no other way."

Brunsley looks helplessly uneasy, shaking his head and struggling to find words to contradict mine.

"But... Holly, no, there's-"

"No other way," I repeat myself, looking him straight in the eye. "If we do this right, then that'll be that. Nightmare over. Criminal caught. That's what we all want. Whatever other ways we could try to do this, I'm still in danger either way. Obviously. This is a murderer."

"Yes, it's a murderer," Brunsley agrees, then sighs deeply, rubbing at his forehead with one hand, the other dropping to the table. "And if we were to do this... let you go home, with as foolproof a plan as we can muster, do you really think it'll work? Won't they think it's too convenient?"

"What about this is convenient?" I question with a scoff. "I've stayed away in safety for as long as I can, but we've gotten nowhere, right? Police are busy, the Tyrel Trust is busy, and so poor Holly Cassia's sent right back home with people watching the house as often as they can, which usually lessens over time. Queue the killer."

"She's right, you know," Elias speaks up, nodding at me and looking at Brunsley impatiently. "Look, can we not just trust Holly and get this over with?"

"I do trust Holly," Brunsley replies. "It's just a big risk. I know, Holly, everything's a risk either way. Amd I think you might be right. Forensics couldn't find any fingerprints or DNA that didn't belong to the victim, only the evidence, and you've got this psychopathic lover's story down to pat. But it all means nothing if the killer isn't caught, and there's just nothing to show who could've done it. It's possibly one of the most frustrating cases I've ever had the displeasure of trying to solve. So..."

"So, we go with Holly's plan?" Edith asks, and Brunsley lets out a heavy sigh, hesitating for a moment before nodding tiredly. I smile in satisfaction.

"What is the plan, then? Every detail."

"I've made a start," I say, taking out my casebook and flicking through the pages until I get to my most recent ones. "Okay. Hidden cameras that were used for the funeral can be set up at my house. One at the entrance, one at the garden, one at the basement, all unnoticeable and in the best vantage points. One or two of the Tyrels will take it in turns to watch the live footage from their car, parked down the road a bit, just in case they're noticed. I'll put your number or something in speed-dial on my phone, so when they turn up, or if there's a chance something is going wrong, I can give you a missed call and you can be there in less than five minutes. Yes, so far?"

Edith, Emerson and Elias nod. Brunsley nod, his hand away from his face and on top of the other one now, hanging onto my words.

"Then, somehow, I've got to act like I'm trying to get things back to normal. Planning things for college, sorting out my parents' things at home, all of that. Life goes on, apparently. Maybe Edith can go have friendly chats with the neighbours about me being back and stuff, get them talking and more attention on me. The killer will definitely notice. All they'll do is wait for a few days-"

"Are you sure they'll be so quick?" Brunsley interrupts, and I let out a short huff, giving him a look.

"Brunsley, I'd be dead already if I wasn't here."

"Fair point. So, give them up to a month, then?"

"A month? No. Give them a week. Maybe less than a week. They'll be eager," I assure him. "I can't go back to thinking that I might be safe and this is all done with now. And if I do, it can't last long. They want me to be as afraid and uncomfortable and paranoid as ever."

Brunsley looks awed for a little while, and looks down at the table in thought, an amused, admiring scoff escaping him.

"They'll probably take me down to the basement, where they killed my mum and dad," I guess. "They'll use the same gun they killed Daniel and my parents with, so once they've shot, that's it. And you cannot let them shoot me, do you hear? I've only just turned eighteen, and I'm trusting you not to let me die like this."

Brunsley laughs at that, shaking his head. "I'll do everything I possibly can, Miss Cassia, I assure you."

"Alright then," I accept, "I'll record their confession on something before they try to finish me off. I'm good at getting to people, reading people, you know. So I can stall. But not for too long."

"Record their confession," Brunsley echoes thoughtfully, before smiling lightly and rummaging in his pocket. His hand emerges with his sleek little voice recorder, and he passes it over the table, offering it to me. "You'll want to borrow this, then."

I take it from him, studying the modern design with mild interest. "Oh. Okay. Thank you."

"That's our bulletproof plan, then?" Elias asks us all, arms crossed over his chest as he leans back in his chair. "Sounds good enough, I think."

"Yes," Emerson agrees. "We won't let our guards down, and I'm almost completely certain that the RoseBlood Killer won't realise how Holly's figured them out or set them up. They would have been observant enough to know that she's smart, but..."

"But not this smart," Edith finishes with a kind smile to me. "I think you're amazing, Holls. I'd have had a breakdown by now, if this were me."

I smile at her back, and Brunsley taps his fingers against the solid wood table in a concluding little beat.

"Right," he says. "Give me today to let my team know, Holly. Then it's up to you when you want to leave."

I think about it for a second, closing my casebook and sliding it down off the table, until it lands on my lap. Then I meet Brunsley's gaze determinedly, fingers gripping onto the book's cover a little tighter.

"Tomorrow."