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The New York Times feature published on a Sunday in November. I read it at the kitchen counter in the Capitol Hill apartment at seven in the morning with Eleanor in the carrier against my chest and Julian beside me with his coffee and the Washington November morning outside the window doing what November mornings did which was arrive cold and clear and entirely without apology for what the year had cost to produce them. The feature ran to four thousand words.

Jane hoped his business with Kayla in bed wasn’t one of them. Jane intended to resume her memorization after Willy left, but she felt too drained to continue. She had been cooped up in her apartment for almost two days with only the documents for company. She thought it wouldn’t hurt to spend some time outside. As lunchtime approached, without bothering to change her clothes, Jane decided to go out. She grabbed her small bag, packed everything she wanted to bring, and left her apartment. She didn’t know where she was heading, but she needed some fresh air.

Leslie glanced over one more time at the cover she had in her hands. Jane did stand out, but not for the clothes which she had thought at first. It was because of her facial expression. Since she had worn white, she had thought a more fierce and sad look would have been the best but now she was wrong. Jane had a small smile on her face which highlighted the black dress and brought out its shine.

CHAPTER 59: A MATCH The library was nearly empty. Jane sat at her usual table in the back corner, tucked between the literature section and a window that overlooked the courtyard. It was her spot. The one place on campus where no one bothered her, where the world shrank to the size of a textbook and everything else faded away. Except today, everything else wasn't fading. She had read the same paragraph three times. The words blurred together. Her highlighter hovered uselessly above the page.

The Psychopathology of Everyday Life" by Sigmund Freud." Jane flashed a smile. She was a middle-aged woman, petite, with a round face and the prettiest smile you could ever think of. She often wore a love-shaped glass and rested it on the bridge of her nose when she wanted to stare at you. She wasn't the only Librarian here. They were about 5 I had seen. But Jane had to be the best. She wasn't grumpy and didn't hate school children. She did her job with excitement and I believed she loved being a librarian.

Chapter Six - Remy Jane disappeared out into the night, leaving an entire room full of people speechless. Mrs. Johns said something beneath her breath and chased after her. I wanted to follow her, but I knew Jane well enough to know she was already gone. Mrs. Johns walked back a few moments later shaking her head. "Y'all go ahead and finish eating. I guess the talk of Lucas was too much for her." I felt like a dickhead for touching her. Who was the selfish one now?

She reached for the gun in the drawer and brought it up to inspect. "I have a license for all of my weapons, including that one," he said in a disinterested voice. He was done playing with her, for now. "No doubt," she said sarcastically. When she found the chamber empty she replaced the gun and continued her search. Jane spent several fruitless hours going through paperwork and bookshelves with another officer. She pushed a dusty hand through the stray hairs that had escaped her bun, shoving them back. She had carefully replaced every book she had taken off the shelves. She wanted to toss them as she searched and take perverse pleasure in messing up his home and annoying the smug mobster, b

“No.” Jane didn’t hesitate. She walked over and sat beside him on the riverbank, pulling her knees to her chest. “More visions?” He nodded, running a shaky hand through his hair. “Worse than before.” Jane studied him for a moment before reaching into her bag. She hesitated, then pulled out an old, fragile-looking piece of parchment, covered in the same ancient script as the book she had shown Caitlyn. “I think I found something about you,” she said carefully.

I washed my face at the sink and looked at my reflection for a moment and just like before, rethinking every single decision I had made in my past life and then I called Jane. She was at the café on Bleecker in twenty minutes, sliding into the seat across from me with her coat still half on and her eyes wide and ready. I told her everything I'd learned about Andre. Jane sat there with both hands wrapped around her coffee cup and her mouth slightly open and when I finished she was quiet for exactly three seconds and then let out a wail that made the couple at the next table turn and stare.

It looked almost ordinary, which somehow made it more unsettling. Jane leaned closer immediately, curiosity winning over caution like it always did with her. She released my hand and carefully lifted the book off my chest, settling it between her palms like it might bite if mishandled. “It is English,” she said after a quick scan. Then her brows pulled together. “But… this is strange.” Sammy shifted beside the bed, impatience tightening his shoulders. “Does it even matter who wrote it. Just read the bloody content.” Jane shot him a look but did not argue. She cleared her throat and started reading from the beginning, her voice steady, analytical, stripping emotion away as if that would make