Before Zane Jennings could react, she suddenly opened her eyes again. Her hand fumbled beside her for a moment before she shot up, swinging at his face.
Zane Jennings didn't dodge. A sharp sting pierced the skin beneath the corner of his eye.
Once he collected himself, he called her name, his tone tentative. "Erin Lowell."
He spoke in a soft whisper.
Her eyes were wide open, but they were hollow. When she looked at him, it was like peering through a thick fog, as if she were trapped in a hazy, disorienting dream, her very soul stripped away, leaving not a trace of life.
He called out again, "Erin Lowell."
At the sound of his voice, Erin Lowell's eyelashes fluttered. Her complexion was pale, her gaze cold. The moonlight made her skin look almost like porcelain, and the scalpel in her palm glinted with a piercing light.
