Instantly, I saw it for what it was: a test. I know this one, I thought. Seize his forearm and twist my head toward his hands to escape the hold. Side kick to the gut, hammer strike to the head, and run. We’d practiced the drill dozens of times—and yet, my body refused to respond. Suspicion of strangers. Anxiety. Startle response. The room was suddenly stifling. Under my ponytailed hair my scalp was aflame and my pulse pounded in my ears, all dense noise and blood-whoosh. I fought against Sam’s grip like a squirming child, every action driven not by intent but desperation. Throw it against the wall. Thrash and writhe. See what sticks.

I caught a glimpse of Sam in the mirror, confusion and pity writ large on his face. That’s when I gave up. I let my body crumple, and Sam let me go. When I spun away from him and looked down at my hands, they were shaking.

“Shana.” He tried to put his hand on my shoulder, an innocent act meant to comfort. It made me flinch. “Look, you’re not the first woman to come here. Not the first cop, either. I wish I could say my students did this as a precaution, but for a lot of them, it’s about retaliation. Making sure there won’t be a next time, because the first time around was real bad. You’re stronger than most. But that’s not going to help unless you can get this guy out of your head.”

I pivoted away from him so he wouldn’t see my mouth harden. You don’t understand, I wanted to say. I was held hostage by a serial killer who murdered three women and a rookie police officer. But I knew that Sam was right. I had to get Blake Bram out of my head.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Fine.” I held back tears of anger and shame. The room was uncomfortably quiet. I swiped my hands across my clammy forehead and turned to face him once more. Rolled out my wrists and stood tall. “Yes, Sensei,” I said. “Let’s do it again.”

THREE

Some might say I was asking for trouble, driving aimlessly on the outskirts of town where the only sign of life was the tumbledown farmhouses that dotted the flat horizon. Walking alone for hours by the river’s edge as the blustery wind buffeted my hair and stung my eyes. It had become a routine I enjoyed, a way to cope with my empty, endless days. I forced my muscles to relax as I studied the way the sky and river blended into a seamless canvas of pearly gray, and occupied my chattering mind by trying to name as many islands as I could.

Some eighteen hundred of them rose up from the water, many crowned with homes that dated back to the nineteenth century, when well-to-do gentlemen from cities like New York and Philadelphia traveled north by train to erect these grand weekend estates. In summer, the St. Lawrence hummed with boat traffic, and flags bearing the heritage of the islands’ owners cracked in the breeze. Now, all was abandoned to winter. Aside from my own, there wasn’t another beating heart for miles.