I didn’t have time to say thanks. Low heels clacking, I strode out of the room. I looked neither left nor right, moving faster as I saw the door at the end of the room. I hit the door at a run, reaching the toilet just in time.

Retching violently, I lost my breakfast. Tears streamed down my face, the salt mixing with the bitter taste of vomit. How could anyone do that to another person? I wasn’t prepared for this. I was a witch, damn it. Not a coroner. The I.S. didn’t teach its runners how to deal with this. Runners were runners, not murder investigators. They brought their tags in alive, even the dead ones.

My stomach was empty, and when the dry heaves finally stopped, I stayed where I was, sitting on the floor of the FIB bathroom with my forehead against the cold porcelain, trying not to cry. I suddenly realized someone was holding my hair out of the way, and had been for a while.

“It will go away,” Rose whispered, almost to herself. “Promise. Tomorrow or the next day, you’ll close your eyes and it will be gone.”

I looked up. Rose dropped her hand and took a step back. Beyond the propped-open door was the row of sinks and mirrors. “Really?” I said miserably.

She smiled weakly. “That’s what they say. I’m still waiting. I think they all are.”

Feeling foolish, I awkwardly got to my feet and flushed the toilet. I brushed myself off, glad the FIB kept their bathroom cleaner than I kept mine. Rose had gone to a sink, giving me a moment to gather myself. I left the stall feeling embarrassed and stupid. Glenn would never let me live this down.

“Better?” Rose asked as she dried her hands, and I gave her a loose-necked nod, ready to burst into tears again because she wasn’t calling me a newbie or making me feel inadequate or that I wasn’t strong. “Here,” she said, taking my purse from a sink and handing it to me. “I thought you might want your makeup.”

I nodded again. “Thanks, Rose.”

She smiled, the age lines in her face making her look even more comforting. “Don’t worry about it. This is a bad one.”

She turned to go, and I blurted, “How do you deal with it? How do you keep from falling apart? That—What happened to them is horrible. How can a person do that to another?”

Rose took a slow breath. “You cry, you get angry, then you do something about it.”

I watched her leave, the clack of her quick heels sounding sharp before the door closed.

Yeah. I can do that.

Eleven