The realization hit me all at once. Across the room, a burner on the gas range flickered blue. The flame licked the underside of a small pot. I ventured closer, images of boiled bunnies racing through my mind. Bracing myself, I looked inside. It was water, nothing more. Nearly all of it had evaporated and the cup or so that was left sizzled softly, trying to disappear.

“Um, can I help you?”

I’d already turned off the burner and was holding the hot pot by its handle when Jade swept into the room. I could have left the water where it was, but the disembodied quality it brought to the kitchen unsettled me. I wanted it gone. I was already jittery, and Jade’s voice made me jump. “Give it,” she said, and made a grab for the handle, upending the scalding water onto my hand.

I yelped and clutched my hand to my chest as the empty pot clattered across the floor. The pain was exquisite; every cell in my body shrieked. I ground my teeth so hard I thought I might crush the enamel into dust. A world away Jade was babbling excuses. I tuned them out and chanced a glance at my hand.

I was of sound mind when I entered that kitchen. Thinking about Bram in the shed hadn’t impaired my judgment. I’m not saying there haven’t been times when it did. A string of words spoken just the right way or the clang of old pipes can take me back. But in spite of what Carson thinks, the memories don’t rattle me. If anything, they make me more vigilant. They remind me people can turn on you faster than an eyeblink, and that the smart ones will make sure you never see them coming.

I was of sound mind, yes. But when I looked at my palm, pink as a boiled Easter ham, it wasn’t a burn I saw, but blood. Blood, slick and glossy, gluey and thick. Blood between my fingers and coating my nails. It was like those thirteen months and the distance they put between me and Bram never happened. The walls pressed in around my body, and I found myself thinking, Please don’t let this blood be his. Oh God, I’m too late.

Fear, dazzling in its intensity, coursed through me. The flashback was so convincing I wanted to cry. My chest exploded with pain and I realized I’d been holding my breath. I closed my eyes, and when I opened them again, the imagined blood on my hand was gone.

It was a second-degree burn, real bad. Soon it would puff up, then blister, then leak, a full-course dinner of pain. Studying the injury triggered a sinking feeling in my gut. It was my right hand. The hand I needed to fire my gun.

“What the hell.” It was the best I could come up with. I was incensed. I couldn’t prove it, but I was sure Jade burned me on purpose. This was no accident.