Josh staggered down the road. His attacker followed close behind him. He seemed to be toying with the bleeding man, letting him get just far enough away that he might escape before catching up and landing another blow. Finally, Josh sank to the ground, his breathing labored.

The man following him met his eyes and drew his head back, revealing the tender white throat of his victim. His face was expressionless as he ran the blade across the skin. Hot red blood first bubbled then sprayed out. The man stepped back and walked down the street, toward a familiar alley, humming.

“Can you see the assailant?” Hassett asked Emery softly. They both knew of his special gifts, which had little to do with conventional trauma analysis.

Emery frowned and shook his head. “I’m not getting any trauma from him either,” he said. “He… enjoyed this, but was perfectly calm. Like he was hunting. There wasn’t even an adrenaline rush.”

He looked up, the viewpoint he had in his vision was from above, like a floor plan. All he could see of the assailant was a cloaked form. “I got nothing,” he said finally.