I thought he was asking about the vision—what kind of gun the man had. A testament to how tired I was, I guess. After a moment I realized he meant, “Do you have your gun and if so, get it out.”

When I did, he motioned for me to head around the building one way while he went the other.

I hugged the wall. I could sense Karl behind me, watching to make sure I was alert enough to do this. Once reassured, a soft crunch of undergrowth told me he was moving, then all went silent.

I made it around the first corner before the vision hit again. It was the same scene from the same angle. I bit back my frustration. There had to be a way to train myself to at least change the viewing angle. Another reason why I’d love to speak to another Expisco.

Three more steps brought me to the next corner. The main house was fifty feet ahead, but I tried to ignore it and concentrate on this building. Presumably the door was on the next wall. I stopped, listened. I could feel only low-level chaos, which might be coming from Karl.

When I reached him, he had the door cracked open, face against the gap, sniffing. When he looked at me, I knew what I’d seen wasn’t some random or past vision. Someone had been shot inside.

“Will you wait?” he whispered.

I shook my head. The low strum of chaos rose to a steady beat. I touched his arm and lifted my lips up to his ear.

“I’ll see it anyway, whether I go in or not.”

His chin dipped in a nod and that drum of chaos subsided.

He opened the door and stepped into the dark room, his head up, nose working. I could make out a dinette table and chairs, a small fridge and microwave, a sofa and a bank of maybe a half-dozen lockers. A staff lounge for the guards.

Karl’s gaze moved to a closed door. Light shone under it.

“Stay right—” He bit the words off, chewed them over, then said, “Cover me.”

I followed, gun ready, as he stopped outside the door, head tilted to listen as his nostrils flared. He turned the handle, then threw open the door.

A figure sat on the toilet, and my first impulse was to back out, apologizing. Then I saw the blood.

The man was slumped against the back of the toilet, mouth open. Male and under forty were the only characteristics I noticed, and not because of the extent of his injuries, but because I couldn’t tear my gaze from those injuries long enough to notice anything else.

He’d been shot twice in the face, at close range. The first bullet had shattered his cheek. The second left his nose a mangled flap of gore, dripping blood.