‘Ready,’ I say. A ghost of the filament stays with my eyeballs, merging two realities into one. It dances as I watch him pinch the shard delicately between thumb and forefinger, the blue gloves wrinkled as if they’re just a bit too big for him. He gives it a little wobble first, just checking how well embedded it really is. Pain shoots right up my arm and into my neck. He catches my eye and nods. I nod back and blow air out of my mouth three times in quick succession. On the third he yanks it out. Blood wells up in the shard’s wake. The sting’s sharper than I’d thought it would be.

He’s quick, lost in the flow of work, and soon has a folded swab pressed hard against the wound, which he asks me to take charge of. After thirty seconds or so he checks it, gives a satisfied nod, and sprays the cut.

‘Not a bleeder,’ I say, more relieved than victorious.

‘Lucky for you,’ he says, dressing it. ‘Seriously, though, me? I’d want it stitched.’ He packs up swiftly and dashes off.

The uniform taking the woman’s statement finishes up and walks over with his hands in his belt like he’s John Wayne. Typical patrol. Overinflated sense of self-importance. He asks for my details.

‘Inspector Jaap Rykel?’ he asks when I give him my name.

I think of the letter in my pocket.

It’d come earlier in the week, forwarded by my lawyer, Pieter Roskam. I’ve still not signed it. Every time I go to pick up a pen I find something better to do. I’ve been carrying it around for days now, hoping that maybe I could somehow sneak up on myself and sign it whilst I wasn’t paying attention. So far I’ve not managed.

‘Used to be.’

‘Right.’ The uniform nods. ‘Thought I recognized you. You worked with Inspector Jansen for a bit, didn’t you?’

‘How’s he doing?’

‘Seven shades of hell I think. He’s on that big case, the Marianne Kleine murder? Pretty nasty from what I’ve heard.’

He says it like I should know who Marianne Kleine is, and maybe I should, but I don’t follow the news. Part of my treatment plan is to avoid triggers wherever possible. And the news is definitely a trigger. Despite that, I find I’m about to ask him, and catch myself just in time. I’m done with all that, I tell myself. None of my business now. I need to focus on me, getting better, getting away from everything that screwed me over in the first place.