12

The wall of my office rattles with the force of Ava slamming the door.

This was not how I wanted the session to end.

As the door swings shut behind her, I rise to my feet on instinct.

A voice in my head—the one that lives in the dark part I pretend doesn't exist—is screaming in my ears.

Why aren't you moving, Jackson?

Chase her down.

Hunt her.

I summon all my mental strength and block out its savage sounds, stopping myself from following her out the door.

I am not an animal. I am a professional, and I'm in control of my actions.

Even if it wasn't Ava's choice to see me as a therapist, it's still her choice to walk away.

I don't try to purposefully upset my patients. Encouraging a patient to express thoughts or feelings that shock even themselves can be an effective method for helping them awaken to theirtrueemotions.

But is that really what I was doing with Ava?

Or was I just pushing her to admit her connection to thiskiller,for some reason that even I don't understand yet?

As soon as she began to discuss the case, I could see the fascination in her eyes.

Her fascination fascinated me.

I want to do my job as a therapist. I want to help this strange, tough-as-nails yet fragile woman who just walked into my life. But I also want to peel back and excavate every twisted instinct in Ava Cain. I can see how she's tried to bury them, just as I'vetriedto bury my own.

And that is not something I should be feeling.

Why is Ava's presencethe thing that bringsthese feelings so close to the surface, where they threaten to take control?

The voice intensifies; its raw, ragged power echoes through the depths of my mind.

Run after her.

Drag her back.

Make her apologize.

Thentouchher until she's begging to stay.

As the voice grows, I realize the room is growing hazy. Everything is blurring. All the careful control in my mind is on the precipice of collapsing.

Fire rips through my chest. It feels like black lava in my veins. The edge of my vision is clouding as Itake a step forwardtoward my office door.

I pick up my phone from the desk, nearly stumbling. Henrik. I don't know what's happening to me, but I know Henrik can help. My finger is hovering above the call button, but the savage heat in my brain is overpowering my senses.

Suddenly, the world around me looks dark.

It's that same sensation, rising like an eclipse in my brain.

The only light is the cold, eerie glow of the moon in my mind's eye as it covers the sun.

My phone slips through my hand.

That's the last thing I remember before the eclipse begins.