She got up, pulled her shirt over her head, put her hair in a ponytail and tugged on the roller shade so it would open. Although it was morning, she was met by darkness.

She pulled her jeans from under the bed and noticed a bag lying there with a black box in the bottom. It was a big, black box inscribed with the name of a boutique, and she knew that name stood for exclusive watches.

She listened for sounds from the bathroom. It was quiet, he hadn’t flushed or run water in the sink, so she knew she had a little time to see what was in the box. She jerked the lid off.

Her mouth fell open when she saw the watch. It was small and really, really beautiful. She touched it, wanting badly to put it on her wrist right away, to feel how it felt to have such an expensive watch on her arm.

The toilet flushed. She hurried to put the box and bag back under the bed, pulled on her jeans and went out into the hallway. He was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. She saw he was completely naked, his entire goddamn package hanging between his legs.

It doesn’t get any worse than this, she thought, struck by the realization that she really wanted to get out of this.

“So you’re already on your way to the next case, Miss Policewoman?”

“You have to quit while you’re ahead.”

He laughed and fluttered his eyelids as if he were trying to flirt.

She put on her jacket, opened the door and looked at him. “You’re crazy, you know that?” She forced a smile, shut the door behind her and hurried down the steps. She took a few deep breaths as she walked across the lawn, shoving her hands in her pockets and swearing—over the fact that she had wanted to break up but couldn’t, not today and not now.

Not before Christmas.

Or more precisely, not before she’d gotten that watch.

* * *

Her hands were shaking, her body shivering.

Had she been dreaming? Not the usual dream anyway. Not about the violence and the spurting blood. Not about the scarring and the voice screaming at her. Not about the hands holding her tightly, hitting her so that she would learn to bear the pain and not give up, learn to be the deadly weapon she was supposed to be.

That Gavril Bolanaki had trained her to be.

And that she had indeed become.

Jana Berzelius opened her eyes, looking straight out into her bedroom. She heard the silence and breathed deeply.

She must have been dreaming—she had heard someone say her name. Or had it just been a sound in her apartment?