“He was a killer, with imprints all over him. Strong ones. Almost overpowering . . . like they are when they’re new.” Violet swallowed, waiting to see what Sara would say.

But Sara didn’t say anything. She just gave a brief nod, and then left them standing there as she marched assuredly toward the officer already heading in her direction, the same guy who’d caught them at Antonia Cornett’s house and brought them there in the first place. Sara coolly revealed her identification . . . ID that looked suspiciously close to a badge, Violet noted, despite the fact that Violet now knew that Sara was no longer actually in the FBI. She showed it to the officer, while her other hand compulsively smoothed over her hair, which was pulled into a flawless ponytail fastened at the nape of her neck. As usual, there wasn’t a single strand out of place. It was Sara’s tic.

“I’m Sara Priest. And these three”—she glowered in the direction of her team—“are with me.” She turned her attention fully on the officer then, smiling as she leaned in conspiratorially. “Can we talk privately for a moment?”

Violet watched as the officer grinned back at her, an almost too-eager expression on his face. She seemed to notice, for the first time really, how Sara’s sapphire eyes stood out against her ivory skin, and the way her auburn hair, always so sleek and severe, captured light in its fiery strands. Strange how she’d never realized those things before.

Sara reached for the officer’s arm, just the barest of touches, as she expertly drew him away from her team.

“Can you hear what they’re saying?” Violet whispered, stepping closer to Krystal.

Pursing her full lips in concentration, Krystal shook her head. Violet could make out the voices as Sara and the officer spoke, but not a word of their conversation.

“Maybe you should ask one of your spirits to eavesdrop,” Rafe stated flatly. “Shouldn’t they have warned you this might happen?”

Krystal stuck her tongue out at Rafe, but then her face broke into a huge grin. “He’s right, you know?” She elbowed Violet. “Here we are, a bunch of psychics . . . you’d’ve thought at least one of us would’ve seen this coming.”

Violet let out a breathy giggle. She didn’t try to explain that she wasn’t really a psychic; she sort of liked feeling like she belonged in their ranks, that she was one of them. On the other side of her, she nudged Rafe. “Yeah, where were your superpowers when we needed them? Or do they only work if you’re wearing your cape or something?”

Rafe rolled his eyes, and Violet thought he might be annoyed that they were making fun of him. And then his lips twitched. “Clearly you don’t know anything. It’s not the cape, it’s the tights.”

Violet had to cover her mouth to stifle a giggle. The idea of Rafe in a cape, let alone tights, was hysterical, but she wasn’t sure Sara would appreciate their timing.

Watching, they saw Sara shake the officer’s hand and then turn her back on him as she strode purposefully toward them. Rafe, as always, seemed unaffected by her withering stare, but Violet could already feel herself squirming, wilting beneath the white-hot intensity that was Sara Priest.

Sara stopped in front of them and inhaled deeply, almost as if she were mentally counting, collecting herself before attempting to speak to them. After a moment, she explained, “I’ve gotten things straightened out here. You three are lucky. They won’t be filing charges against you.” She stretched her hand out—palm up—to Rafe. “I need the key back.” Violet wondered, although only briefly, how Sara had known it was Rafe who’d taken the key, but then she figured it probably hadn’t been that difficult to sleuth out.

Besides, the apathetic look on his face pretty much confirmed her accusation.

He just shrugged when he pulled the silver key from his front pocket and dropped it into her hand, as if it didn’t really matter to him one way or the other. The muscles around Sara’s mouth tightened when she added, a heavy note of exhaustion in her voice, “I’m too tired to deal with this tonight. I’m going home. I expect to see all of you at the Center tomorrow.”

Violet winced. It was almost worse that they’d have to wait. She’d rather just get it over with, to know now what kind of trouble they were in.

And then Sara paused. “Violet, I’d like to talk to you about the boy who threatened you. Would you be willing to take another look at him if I can set something up?” Beside her, Violet was sure she felt Rafe’s disinterested veneer crack. “From behind the two-way, of course.”

Violet hesitated. She’d tried this before, tried to sense imprints from the other side of the mirrored glass they used at police stations. Sara had used the same technique to test Violet’s ability, to see how much she could discern, and how accurate her gift was. She knew that sometimes the glass dulled the sensations, but it was better than the alternative. Better than facing the boy one-on-one again. “Of course,” she agreed. “I’m happy to help.” She wasn’t sure that was entirely true. In fact, the boy’s imprints made her feel cold and dirty. Violated. But wasn’t that the point? Wasn’t that the reason she’d joined the team in the first place, to help stop killers?

“I’m coming too.” Rafe’s voice left no room for argument as he glared not at Violet but at Sara. “If she has to see him again, I don’t want her doing it alone.”

“Look, I’m right here,” Violet interrupted them. “You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not.”