We’d dated for a year before I reported him for the serial murder of his exes.

“H-how… did you know?” he rasped, limp in the cuffs.

I leaned forward, whispering against his ear: “Like recognizes like.”

His eyes widened as flashing blue and red lights came to drag him away.

Celine Grace is a young writer obsessed with the mystery of ideas and is learning how to use marks on a page to tell them.