At a cityscape. I was high above the city, the night bejeweled with lights. Gabriel's apartment. I gripped the balcony, and when I looked down, I saw my own hands and heard the distant rev of a motorcycle engine.
I turned. Gabriel stood in the open patio doorway, his huge frame filling the space, looking awkward and uncomfortable.
"You don't want me here," I said.
"It's not that simple."
"It should be."
I stepped toward Gabriel. He backed up fast, as if I might do something crazy, like touch him. Below, the rev of the engine called to me.
I strode to the apartment door. Gabriel made no move to stop me. I pulled it open.
"Don't leave."
I caught the words as I walked out, his voice low, as if he hoped I wouldn't hear them. I glanced back. The apartment door was open and empty, only darkness and silence beyond. I ran back, heart pounding as I raced over the threshold into--
Into a morgue. A single light illuminated a table. A corpse lay on it. My corpse. Someone was working on it, a slight figure in hospital scrubs and a face mask.
"You're supposed to be standing watch," the figure said. It was a woman's voice. Vaguely familiar but too muffled by the mask to be identifiable.
"I am," said a man.
I turned to see Tristan sitting on a counter, his legs dangling. He looked amused.
"If anyone catches me here . . ." the woman began.
"They won't. Now finish."
At first I thought it was an autopsy, but after a moment I realized she was embalming my corpse, naked on the table. There was a book on a cart. A text. Thanatochemistry. Where had I seen that before?
I remembered where I'd seen the book, and as soon as I did, the woman pulled down her mask.
Macy Shaw.
She turned to Tristan. "If you want the head, you have to do that yourself."
He sighed and lifted a bone saw. The floor vanished under my feet, sucking me down and spitting me out--
I was lying on the mortuary table. I tried to leap up, but I couldn't move. Fire rushed through my veins. Fire and poison, and I gasped, but it made no sound. I saw Tristan approaching, the light above the table glinting off the saw blade, and I tried to scream--
He kissed me. I was standing on a balcony again, feeling arms wrapped around me, but it wasn't the same kiss as in the vision. It was one I knew, one that sparked feelings of grief and nostalgia and anger.
"James," I whispered as I pushed away.
An engine sounded below. Not the rev of a motorcycle. The purr of a high-performance car. I twisted out of James's arms. I was at his mother's house, on the tiny balcony overlooking the driveway. Gabriel was below, standing beside his Jag. It was daytime and he had his shades on. He tugged them off and cast an impatient look up at me.
"Olivia," he called. "We need to go."
"I'll be right--" I began, but James yanked me back.
"He's dangerous," he said.
I sighed. "Yes, I know. I got the file and your message. It doesn't matter. I--"
"No, Liv. You don't understand. Walsh has a plan. An agenda. He's going to use you, and he's going to hurt you. He's a psychopath. You know that, don't you? Will Evans tried to warn you."
"Will Evans helped cover up the murder of his own son. He lied about Gabriel to cover--"