I slammed the knife down. Saw blood splatter. Heard screams. A woman’s scream, hoarse and ragged with animal panic, as confused and terrified as the screams of that cat in the alley. She pleaded for mercy, but her words only fed the hate.

I slammed the knife down again and again, watching flesh become meat, waiting for release, and, when it didn’t come, growing all the more frenzied, stabbing and tearing, then biting, ripping mouthfuls of flesh—

Arms closed around me. I threw them off, seeing only the knife and the blood, feeling the hate, wanting it out of my brain, kicking and punching against whatever held me there—

I ricocheted back to reality so fast my knees gave way.

Trsiel’s arms tightened around me. “Eve, I am so—”

“Goddamn you!” I wrenched free. “How dare—you could have said—goddamn you!”

I staggered across the room, legs unsteady, as if still unsure they were mine. The visions were gone, but I could feel them there, burying into the crevices of my brain. I shuddered and tried to concentrate on something else, something good. But the moment Savannah’s image popped into my head, I felt him there, as if he was watching her through me. I shoved Savannah aside, someplace safe. When I looked up, I expected to see the killer in his cell. But we were back in the white waiting room.

“I’m sorry,” Trsiel whispered behind me. “I didn’t—it’s not normally like that. I thought I could filter it, guide you, but you tapped in directly.”

He laid a hand between my shoulder blades. I shrugged it off and stepped away. The images and emotions were fading, but my brain kept plucking them back, like picking at a scab to see whether it still hurt. I pressed my palms to my eyelids and let out a shuddering sigh.

“So that’s it, then,” I said. “Your ‘gift.’ You see evil. See it, feel it…”

“We learn to control it,” Trsiel said. “Focus, so we see only what we need. When you—” He stopped, audibly swallowing his words. “I’m—this isn’t—Zadkiel does this—handles the inaugural quests and the new recruits, guides them, teaches them how to use the gift. It’s not…”

He sighed and I heard him sink into a chair. When I turned, he was slouched in the white armchair, head resting on the top, gaze fixed on the ceiling.

Surely, if you’re as old as Trsiel had to be, you’d have enough experience and enough confidence in yourself to act, if not with perfect results, then at least with perfect resolve. Yet he looked as frustrated as any human thrust into a job he’s not qualified for.