My hands swiped air. Strong arms clamped around me. My eyes darted to the door—it was open. I was so far gone that I almost didn’t recognize Bales as he pulled me away from the sheriff. I fought the old man, bucking against his hold, arching my back, twisting my neck, my teeth going for his—

“You’ll be wanting to take a step back, Sheriff.”

Even with my mind a twisted mess of images and feelings and hurt, I could hear the lethal note in Bales Bennett’s tone.

The sheriff’s voice broke through the red haze next. “I was just talking to her, and she went feral. I should arrest her for assaulting an officer.”

He was lying. He was a threat, and he was lying, and I would…

Bales tightened his hold, forcing me to still. “Kira didn’t assault anyone.” He kept his tone low. “She’s going to breathe and calm down, and the two of us are going to walk out of here.”

Breathe. Calm down. Breathe.

Bales whispered into the back of my head, “Jude said that I should offer you confetti. He also said that if the confetti didn’t work, I should up my game and bribe you with glitter.”

Jude. I recognized the name and clung on for dear life. Jude. Free. Cady. Me.

Kira. I’m Kira.

“Your granddaughter is a very disturbed child.” The sheriff shook his head sadly. “What Cady’s tried to do for her is admirable, really, but—”

One second, Bales was restraining me, and the next, he’d let loose of me and had the sheriff by the throat. Bales slammed him against the wall, like the sheriff weighed no more than a rag doll.

“I’ll have you arrested,” the sheriff wheezed.

“I’m dying.” Bales offered the sheriff a glittering smile, his knuckles whitening as his hand tightened around his target’s neck. “I’ve got weeks, maybe months to live.”

On one level, I was surprised Bales had volunteered that information in my presence. But on another, more immediate level, I was entranced by the superhuman control with which Bales held his prey in place. Long seconds ticked by as the sheriff’s fingers scraped futilely against the vise on his neck. With no warning, Bales dropped his hold. The sheriff wheezed, and Bales took a single step backward.

“Funny thing about dying,” Bales said, his voice contemplative. “You don’t have much to lose.” He let his hands fall to his sides, his palms facing outward. “Go ahead and arrest me. I’d love to hear you telling a judge that you were brutalized by a frail, dying old man.”

I thought of the sheriff, puffing himself up to seem bigger—and then I realized that I could think again. Bales had attacked, so I didn’t have to. But thinking was a double-edged sword.