Eli
"What are you doing, Hope?"
She springs to her feet like a guilty cat caught on the kitchen counter. The pillow flops back into place behind her like it knows it's part of a crime scene.
Her eyes widen, then soften a little when she sees me. "Wh… wha…-what are you doing here?" she stammers, twisting her fingers and avoiding eye contact like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner.
"I could ask you the same," I say, raising an eyebrow. "Midnight fluffing duty, huh?"
"I was uhm… I'm just uhh… arranging his pillow. So he sleeps well," she offers, her body about as steady as a Jenga tower on a trampoline.
"Right," I nod solemnly. "If you ever decide to unalive him instead, just give me a heads-up. I'll dim the lights, play dramatic music—and make it cinematic. Your second kill should be more enjoyable than the first."
Hope groans. "You're not funny Eli."
"Neither is attempted murder. But here we are. I could kill him if you want. It's easier that way"
