Grief is a stormcloud behind my temple, fogging my thoughts and dripping condensation until the skin beneath my eyes feels heavy and swollen with unshed tears. I drift through the day, completing tasks that require minimum mental capacity as time skips, stutters, stumbles around me. An hour passes in an instant; the next never ends.

Sitting on the cold cement floor with his head tipped back to the wall, Mackenzie muses on the distinctive smell of blood. He is almost used to it, as much as anyone can be, thanks to his years on the force. But that doesn’t make it any less unpleasant, and it doesn’t stop that curl of fear that tickles the back of his throat.

The woman was dying when T0T0 found her. Shaking limbs and strained breaths were a clear enough sign of poison-induced death; it wouldn’t be long now. I hung back, shielded by the rusted-out shell of a long-forgotten car, and studied the area for signs of a trap.