Tethered Spirit: Bound To My Murderer Husband

Ava POV

The investigation moved with terrifying speed; William Sinclair did not waste time.

By noon, a team of forensic investigators had cordoned off the emergency room entrance. Yellow crime scene tape snapped violently in the wind, a stark contrast to the relentless gray day.

I floated above them, a silent sentinel watching the aftermath of my own murder.

They were hunting for blood. They were scouring the pavement for DNA.

One investigator, a woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense ponytail, was kneeling exactly where I had fallen. Right where Francis had shoved me.

I remembered the pain. I remembered the sickening sound of metal scraping against the tile as I collapsed.

My pendant.

Not the ruby necklace Benedict gave Yvonne. The other one. The small, silver locket I always wore. It held a tiny chip of the same ruby, a leftover shard from when Benedict had commissioned the main necklace for his mother—before he stole it back to give to Yvonne.

It had snapped off when I hit the floor.

It was small. Tiny. Easily missed deep in the grout lines of the tile.

The investigator was scanning the floor with a UV light. She was moving too fast. She was going to miss it.

No, I thought, panic flaring in my chest. Look down. Look closer.

I focused all my energy, all my will, on that tiny spot of silver and red. I could not touch it. I could not speak. But I could... push.

Not physically, but mentally. I focused on the investigator's subconscious.

Look. Look. Look.

The investigator paused. She frowned, the rhythm of her work breaking. She tilted her head, as if she had heard a whisper over the wind.

She moved her light back.

There.

A tiny glint.

She reached into her kit and pulled out a pair of tweezers.

"What do you have?" her partner asked, stepping closer.

She carefully picked up the fragment. It was a piece of silver setting, holding a jagged shard of ruby.

"Looks like jewelry," she said, her voice muffled by her mask. "Broken in a struggle."

She placed it in an evidence bag. She held it up to the gray light.

On the back of the silver setting, microscopic but visible, were initials.

B & A.

Benedict and Ava.

My name. Linked to his.

I felt a surge of triumph that tasted like ash.

The investigator stood up.

"Bag it and tag it," she ordered. "This places the victim exactly where the witness said she was. And if the fracture lines match the jewelry the suspect was wearing..."

She looked toward the hospital doors, her eyes narrowing.

"We've got them."

I looked up at the window of Benedict's office on the third floor. I knew he was up there. I knew he was suffering.

"Good," I whispered to the wind.

Let it burn. Let it all burn.