Chapter Four

Libby

People think that because I'm a psychic, I can see anything coming and never get any nasty surprises.

How wrong they are.

A few seconds ago Sharon, Carol and I were in full flight, talking up a storm. Mid-sentence, without any real awareness of what I was doing, I took a half-step to my right, shrieked 'yeowch!' and jumped a foot in the air.

I spent a lot of my life playing a complicated game of 'the floor is lava'. For me, the ground really was sometimes literally too hot for me to handle.

My cousins knew that, and they had obviously been drilling their co-workers before I arrived. When we pulled up at the office, Tyson had led me around to a side entrance that was apparently an emergency fire door, leading directly into Psy's meditation room. I appreciated that they went to the effort of temporarily unhooking the fire alarm so I could come in this way instead of the main entrance, where the barrage of old traces entering and leaving the building might have overwhelmed me.

I appreciated it, right up until my foot hit something that lit me up like a live wire.

"Holy shit!" I yelped, trying to shake off the sensation of suddenly being plugged into a wall socket. It was just as well we were in a sound-proofed room. Between our round of hugging, squealing, talking a mile a minute upon our reunion, and my outburst just now, we would have well and truly disrupted what was a thriving business in the middle of a work day if we'd done this in the middle of the cubicles. "What the hell was that?!"

I lifted my gaze from my still-tingling ankle to focus on Sharon and Carol's startled faces. They knew I sometimes reacted to traces I unwittingly stepped on, but they'd never seen me jolt like this, not even the numerous times they'd seen me step on the trails of serial killers.

They turned to face each other, then in unison said: "Jon."

That kind of stunt was what led a lot of people to mistake Sharon and Carol for fraternal twins. They weren't - there was a two-year age gap between them - but they were deeply attuned to each other as psychic and anchor. Growing up, the three of us had always hung out together. Carol and I had displayed signs of psychic ability early on, so we had been put in our school's special program. Sharon had tagged along, partly because she and her sister were inseparable, partly because she had to potential to become an anchor for one of us.

As if there were ever any doubt. I had always known that Sharon would be Carol's anchor as soon as they finished their training. They were so perfectly in-step with each other from the time we were all tiny kids, forming an anchor bond with each other was just a formality. I had never felt left out. Sharon knew me well enough to act as my stand-in anchor when the need arose, and Carol also helped me out however she could.

Then I had met Cally, and it had been the four of us, two balanced sets of psychic-and-anchor pairings. I had visited Nashville briefly a few times, stopping in on my way to other cases in neighbouring states, and I'd met my cousins on other jobs where we had all worked together. They had loved Cally, quickly accepted her as one of the gang and an addition to the family. We had joked that we were the Psychic Musketeers.

I had never felt like the odd one out. Until now.

I hadn't seen much of Sharon and Carol in person since Cally's funeral. They had Skyped me several times, been there to listen to me when I'd had a hard day or woke up in the middle of the night desperately needing someone to talk to. I hated to burden them with my grief when they had their own lives, their own anchor bond to support, and their own grief over Cally's loss to deal with. But the comfort they had given me was unlike any I could find anywhere else, not even from my therapist. They knew what having an anchor bond was like, knew the enormity of what I had lost. Carol had talked me through severing my bond at Cally's bedside, though even through my devastation I had seen how the process had distressed her almost as much as it did me.

That was just who my cousins were: they were both using their psychic expertise to help others. Sharon was experienced enough to know exactly what psychics of all kinds needed. She was occasionally called to consult in her own right, on past cases she had supported other visiting psychics and stepped in when an unanchored one needed backup. More than once during our Skype chats, I had heard how Sharon had stepped in to help Jon come down from a difficult case before he had anchored.

Speaking of.

"Was Jon in here recently?" I asked, shaking out my foot. I swore I could still feel phantom tingles sparking somewhere in my right shin.

"He was in here a few days ago," Carol said apologetically, as Sharon went to a side cupboard and started rummaging for something, clattering about with spare crystals and vials of sand. "He had a big case. There was an attack on a local building, and he was called in to find the perpetrator."

I could tell Carol was speaking carefully, trying to explain the situation to me without giving away too many details. I got client confidentiality, had filled out scores of NDAs - or had Cally fill them in for me when I could sufficiently bribe her - and well knew the sanctity of professional discretion. I suspected it had something to do with the attempted arson attack earlier in the week. I had flipped through a recent edition of The Tennessean on the flight in, partly to distract from my twitchiness at having to sit on a plane for several hours, partly to get a sense of what the Nashville scene was like and scope out some possible cases I might walk into if I got called in as a consultant. I had read a fleeting article that merely stated an attempted arson attack had been committed in the business district and a suspect had been detained. It made no mention of Psy's involvement, but for a suspect to have been apprehended by authorities so quickly, it made sense.

I was glad that case was already solved. I had little fear of chasing after criminals face-first; but running on the trace someone who might set fires in my path was not a prospect I particularly relished.

"Once the danger alert had been cleared, they locked down the building with dozens of people inside," Carol continued. "They hastily called Jon in to scan the suspect pool. He covered about a dozen rooms, pulling out likely suspects, then singled out the perpetrator within three hours."

Carol and I shared a grin. As psychics, we both occasionally encountered opposition to our work, people who were prejudiced towards us or doubted our abilities. It was always satisfying to hear stories of psychics who solved cases and made a difference. Given the wild stories I'd heard of Jon's particular talent, this was probably just a typical Tuesday for him. It was pretty gratifying to hear about nonetheless.

"He came in here afterwards," Sharon said, picking up the tale and wielding a spray bottle. The scent of sage filled the room as she gave the floor a few squirts. "After hours of staring at hordes of frightened and outraged people, his eyes were pretty well fried. Donovan wanted to bring him in here to recover, and rightly so. We had planned to leave this room clear for you, but we could hardly refuse when Jon needed the downtime, and his anchor would only insist upon it, as he well should."

I nodded to show that I more than understood and agreed with Sharon's assessment. An overworked psychic who was reaching their limit and on the cusp of overwhelm always took precedence. It was unethical to leave a psychic under duress, and I would never begrudge giving up a clear room to someone who needed it more than me. Especially when all I had to do to switch off was literally put my feet up. From what I heard, I assumed Jon giving his eyes a break until he recuperated left him effectively blind.

"He was only in here for a little over an hour," Carol went on, as Sharon bent down and began swiping the floor with a cloth, spreading the scent of sage. "Sharon cleaned the floor after him, and Donovan cleaned it again to make doubly sure, but I guess Jon leaves a stronger impression than we realized."

"He sure does," I agreed, giving the patch of floor I'd previously been standing on a wide berth, not just because it was now damp and strongly sage-scented.

"He was still running hot when he came in," Carol explained. "The culprit apparently felt vindicated in what they did and their guilt was hard to pick out, especially with at least ten other suspects who had it in for the owners of the building. Jon ended up having to go level two in order to pick the right guy out before the PD were forced to release everyone who had been detained, so they were in a race against time. Jon certainly sped up the process, but he had a splitting headache afterwards."

I winced in sympathy. The way I read auras was mostly passive, but I'd heard from Sharon's and Carol's explanations that Jon could extend himself to read people on a deeper psychic plane. Just the thought of grappling with energies on that kind of exposed level made my inner psyche recoil.

"He's fine now," Sharon assured me, having seen the face I pulled. "And his trace isn't always as intense as that. At least, I'm pretty sure it's not."

"Is he in the office right now?" I asked. "If he's left trails around the place, I'd rather get a feel for his trace sooner rather than later, so I don't stumble on booby-traps like that again if I can help it."

"He should be in today, unless something urgent suddenly came up." Sharon put the spray bottle away and hung the cloth on the edge of a bench to dry out. "Come on through, we'll introduce you to him and the rest of the team. I'm pretty sure everyone else is here today."

"Thought we'd bring them all in for you rather than have you chase them cross town one by one," Carol joked.

"How thoughtful," I jibed right back at her.

I was still a bit leery of walking in Jon's footsteps. I knew it was better to go through the internal door leading from the meditation room to the main office than to take my chances with the main external entry, but I didn't know which step might give me another zap from Jon's electrified trail.

"Stick close to the right-hand wall," Sharon advised me, noticing my hesitance. "Jon avoids that side, since it's where the light switch is."

I did as she said, sidling through the doorway close enough to brush against the switch on my way through. I shot Sharon a grateful smile once I made it into the corridor without further incident. I kept sticking to the right side, since I could see there was a photocopy machine up ahead that Jon likely also avoided.

"We've got mats at home, and I'll get Marcy to order some more for the office," Sharon said, as she and Carol followed me out. "Garrett or Tyson should be able to pick them up later today. We can use them to mark out a spare cubicle as a safe haven for you, and you can put down mat pathways to different parts of the office - the break room, bathroom, supply closet - if you need to. Or just get Tyson to fetch stuff for you while you're here."

I rolled my eyes at her. My cousins knew I preferred to do my own leg work over having someone run around for me. I didn't take sitting down well and always liked to have an excuse to move around, even for errands as simple as fetching a stapler. "Oh, I'm sure Tyson will be thrilled by the chance to sling me over his shoulder and carry me to the ladies' room every time I need to powder my nose." We chuckled at that, mostly because we all knew I hated the idea even more than Tyson would.

When we came out into the main open-plan office area, I automatically did a sweep to see how many people were around and where they were all located, so I could get a sense of where their traces might lie.

Tyson was standing at what I assumed was the front desk. He must have heard us come in, as he looked up from the form he was filling in, gave me a brief smile and wave, then turned his attention back to the paperwork.

The woman behind the desk, however, turned in our direction, gave a reverberating shriek of excitement, and bustled over.

"Ohmigod, you're finally here!" she squealed as she made a beeline for me.

I recognised Marcy from our Skype calls. Sharon and Carol often invited Marcy along with them to get coffee or have a girls' nights out. They had introduced us over video call and we had talked quite a bit, so we knew each other pretty well already, though we had never met in person before now.

Which was evident in the way that Marcy rushed in as if to hug me, then remembered some instructions she must have been given to not do what she had been about to do, screeching to a halt suddenly enough for her shoes to squeak loudly on the linoleum floor.

"Sorry," she said, smiling apologetically as Carol, Sharon and I chuckled at her antics. "I was so excited to finally meet you, I almost forgot the protocol your cousins have been drumming into everyone for the past week."

"That's okay," I said, smiling. Marcy really was as lovely and bubbly in person as she had been over Skype. "I'm happy to finally meet you in person too. Mind if I step on your trace?"

"Sure, go for it!" All of us laughed at Marcy's excited response. Tyson joined in the laughter from the desk, and I was pretty sure I could hear at least one other man laughing somewhere behind me. "I've been hanging out to see this in person, the way your cousins describe it makes it sound so cool!"

"It's going to be pretty anti-climactic I'm afraid," I warned her. "There isn't anything to see at your end, just mine."

"Still, being present while such a rare psychic type is in action is a pretty exclusive experience," Marcy insisted, practically bouncing in excitement. "How should I do this?"

"Just walk towards me, stop at least a foot away, then step back again so I can come forward and stand on your trace."

Marcy did as I instructed, slowly walking forward, then lurching to a stop and backing up carefully, her expression focused as if she were carefully counting each step in her head.

"I feel like I'm learning the world's simplest square dance," she murmured, smiling sheepishly as another round of laughter went up.

"You don't want to take me on an actual dance floor," I assured her. "Makes me feel like I'm on one of those spinning teacup rides. Okay, here goes."

Having carefully monitored the distance away from me where she had stopped, I came forward and stepped on her trace. I got a slight frisson of nerves, a whole lot of excitement, and the unadulterated joy at seeing someone who was both a new acquaintance and a familiar friend. I was touch by how genuinely happy Marcy was to have me here. Sure, we had talked multiple times online, but she apparently liked me enough already to consider me a friend rather than just the family of some co-workers.

"Okay?" Marcy asked, having given me a few seconds to sort out her trace with my psychic perception, the anticipation in her trace growing with each passing second. She was like a puppy who had just been unleashed at the dog park but told to stay before she could run off to play with the other pups, it was kind of adorable.

"Okay. Come here and give me a hug before the anticipation makes you pass out over there."

She gave another happy squeal, not hesitating another moment before she enveloped me in a hug strong enough to rock us side to side.

I tamped down a sudden onslaught of emotions.

I had travelled place to place constantly after the funeral, though my family had offered to let me stay with them long enough to find my feet. But I'd had to take some time away from everyone. Stepping on the traces of loved ones, feeling their sadness and worry for me, had been too much. I had been on the road solo non-stop for months, going places where no one knew to feel sorry for me, away from familiar surroundings that might have triggered old memories. I had networked everywhere cases took me, made friendly acquaintances, some of which bordered on becoming friends. But I hadn't had this, the warmth of friendship and the physical contact that went with it, for such a long time.

Having Carol and Sharon hug me when I arrived had been like sinking into a warm bath after hours spent out in the freezing cold. To get such a welcoming hug from Marcy as well, a woman who I knew I liked but had only just met, unexpectedly almost had me choked up. It was hardly an intimate touch compared to what I had shared with Cally and lost after she passed, but the contact was something I had apparently dearly missed. I'd had no idea I was so touch-starved.

Carol and Sharon joined in as Marcy finally let me go. There was more squeaking and exclaiming and chattering, only now with Marcy contributing along with myself and my cousins.

Another laugh came from behind me. "You four are lighting up brighter than a Christmas tree," a tenor voice with a teasing Southern drawl proclaimed. "If you're all going to go through this ritual every morning, I'm going to have to start wearing sunglasses indoors again."

We all turned towards the voice. It belonged to a slightly-built blonde man who was standing in the open doorway to what must be his office. His crisp shirt and trim waistcoat subtly pinged my bi-dar. His eyes, which were a vivid shade of blue, crinkled with amusement as he watched us.

"It is a festive occasion," Sharon retorted with a fake huff. "It's not every day our cousin comes to visit. Stop lurking in doorways, Jon, and come meet Libby."

So this was the infamous Jon. Even without my cousins knowing him personally, his reputation preceded him in the psychic world. He was becoming increasingly high-profile thanks to his uniquely powerful ability, his proficiency as an investigator, and the speed with which he wrapped up his cases. I had been told that the heavy security door at Psy was there largely thanks to the loonies who tried to take revenge on him.

The Humvee I had seen taking up two spaces in the parking lot out back was apparently one of the few cars resistant to his tech-killing touch. If my psychic ability necessitated having a ride like that, I'd take advantage of it too. I had practically drooled over the off-roading potential of those extra-wide rims and that beefed-up suspension, though the gas bill a beast like that would wrack up on the distances I travelled made my bank account whimper.

Jon sauntered over with a self-deprecating grin. With eyes no longer scrunched up with laughter, he turned his full gaze on me.

Whoa. His reputation was apparently not the only thing that preceded him. Those eyes seemed to assess me at a dozen paces, penetrating and discerning.

I was used to being the one with the insight, picking up clues from the traces I stood on. But Jon could scan me from a distance with sight alone, and I didn't particularly care for the sensation.

I didn't want to show off the grief which I knew must be flaring in my aura. It was too private, too raw for me to share with in words with people I considered my closest family, let alone having a complete stranger take it in with a single glance.

Jon stopped advancing towards me, paused with a considering head-tilt, then met my eyes directly and gave me a miniscule nod. I thought I saw a shadowed furrow briefly appear between his brows, but I either imagined it or he schooled it out of his expression almost immediately. His face didn't give away having seen anything untoward in my aura.

I felt a surge of relief and released the breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

My cousins had reassured me that though Jon would likely see all my secrets with a single look, he wouldn't blurt them out to all and sundry. I had known that, knew that Jon would operate under the psychic's inherent code of right to privacy, just as I did. But it was still a reassurance to have him scan me like a psychic x-ray and hold his peace, to the point of not even letting his expression flicker at what he saw in me. He was obviously good at what he did, and knew how to be considerate in the face of how much his ability revealed to him.

He smiled at me, obviously seeing my reaction to his discretion in real time. Wow, that was weird, and more than a little impressive. The stories about him obviously weren't exaggerations. I could see why criminals were terrified of him. I could also see that all the people who'd said he was a good man besides being a powerful psychic had spoken the truth.

"Jon," Carol's stern voice broke through our silent exchange. "Did you have to leave such potent trails of psychic energy around the office? We brought Libby in through the meditation room so she could avoid stepping on the intense trace from a client or suspect, only for her to shoot off the floor like she'd just stepped on a land mine where you'd been skulking around back there."

"I'm sorry." Jon spread his hands in a supplicant gesture, looking genuinely apologetic. "I needed a few moments to recuperate after that big case earlier in the week, and the office was slightly closer than home. Besides, I didn't have much choice. My anchor hustled me in there before anyone could protest, me included. I had intended to steer clear of the room until this case suddenly cropped up, if I'd had prior warning I would have made plans to ride out the recovery at my place instead. I didn't mean to give you such a rough welcome, Libby, and I sincerely apologize."

"That's alright, Jon." I gave him a smile to assure him I had no hard feelings, though he could likely see that for himself. Okay, this whole seeing-what-I-feel thing took some getting used to. "I get the need to recover after nearly busting your limits. I just hope you don't run that high all the time. It's not like wearing sunglasses would help me, and I don't think they make even platform shoes with soles thick enough to insulate me from how hot your trace is at level two."

"It's not often I have to read at that level, so I'm afraid you were just unlucky enough to catch my trace when it was nearly at its worst. You're welcome to take a new baseline reading, if you need to."

"More like if I dare to," I teased, Jon and I sharing a companionable grimace while the others laughed. "I'll brave it I guess. If I can handle stepping on the trace of serial killers, a beacon of justice like yourself should be a walk in the park."

Everyone laughed at my comment as Jon mimicked Marcy's moves, taking several paces forward then backing into his doorway again. I walked forward and, bracing myself, stepped onto the spot where he'd stopped.

It was intense still, but not in the way I had expected. Instead of feeling like I'd been zapped with a cattle prod, this time I felt like I had been plugged into the circuitry and could see the entire network buzzing around me. It was a lot to process, but I was vaguely aware of the auras of everyone present and monitoring them constantly, colours shifting in their lines like the view through a kaleidoscope.

Was this how Jon experienced the world all the time? My cousins had told me that Jon was constantly 'on' as his ability had no 'off' switch. He was likely used to it if he had lived his whole life like this, but after a few seconds I found the constant visual feedback exhausting. No wonder he often had headaches. I certainly didn't begrudge him using the meditation room after experiencing what he did, and I shuddered to think how much more disorienting this would have been before his anchoring gave him proper shields.

Speaking of his anchor, I could see another trace alongside Jon's, so closely entwined with his that it could only belong to Donovan.

I looked up from where I had been examining the office floor, learning a new trace that was visible only to me - or so I thought - and found Jon was also staring at the ground, his surprise reaching me along his trace.

"You can see it?" I asked, gesturing at the trace which, to me, looked like a gigantic glow worm stretching between me and Jon.

"Yes I can," he replied, not lifting his eyes from where he gazed at the floor in fascination. "Is that what a trace looks like to you? I feel like I'm standing on a giant glow stick."

I laughed at his description. "That's pretty apt. Wow, it's amazing that you can see it. I've never had another psychic who was able to see what I see without linking up."

"That's why Jon's eyes pay his bills and make a good dint in ours," Sharon stated proudly. "He's always said that Carol's ability looks like a model of a city power grid lighting up, which is pretty ironic coming from him."

"It's because I can see the energy that I fry electronic stuff," Jon shot back, heaving a frustrated sigh that must be habitual by now, as everyone else only laughed again in response. "On the upside, occasionally I get to see sights like this, which is pretty cool. Not many people get to see how another psychic works from their point of view." He examined the ground again. "How come there's a second trail?"

"You tell me. My guess is it's your anchor's trace, and he's in the office behind you."

"That he is." Jon shot a fond smile over his shoulder. "We didn't want to overwhelm you with too many people at once, so he thought it best to stay out of sight when you first arrived. We weren't sure how you'd react to my trace, so it's fine if you need a break before meeting him and the others."

"I've already gotten a glimpse of you at your worst," I teased. "If I can handle that, I think I can handle meeting your partner. I trust his trace won't make the soles of my feet go numb like yours did, and I don't want him to stay cooped up in your office on my account."

Smiling good-naturedly at the slight ribbing I'd given him, Jon turned back towards the room behind him. "You hear that, Donovan? Libby says you can come out." Turning back to me, he introduced the man who appeared at his shoulder, "This is my anchor and fiancé, Donovan Havili."

I had taken a step off Jon's trace, but I didn't need my psychic sense to see the affection he had for the man who appeared in the doorway beside him. The eyes that saw all were also quite expressive, and they practically turned into hearts when he caught sight of his man.

I expected someone Donovan's size to lumber towards me, but for such a big guy he was surprisingly light on his feet. The ease with which he moved only added to how badass he looked, and my detective instincts told me to be wary despite my better judgement. I tamped down my automatic fight-or-flight response as Donovan gave me a somewhat shy smile.

"Nice to meet you, Libby," he rumbled in a rich baritone. "You're welcome to step on my trace, though we can hold off if you need a breather."

"Good to meet you, Donovan. And it's fine, if you can step up I'll check out your trace now."

Donovan repeated the step-forward-step-back manoeuvre - he likely watched Marcy and Jon do it from his doorway - and I stepped on his trace.

Huh, this was why I should never judge a person before I traced them. I got an impression of martial arts prowess and stealth training, which tracked with what my cousins had told me of his army background. But all of that was minimized, as if Donovan had tried to shove it to the back of his psychic profile and make it as inconspicuous as possible. I could feel that Donovan was anxious to make a good first impression, aware of how intimidating he appeared, and hoped he could somehow make himself less threatening. It was rare that I encountered such a large man subconsciously trying to make himself smaller. Usually men of Donovan's stature in his profession tried to dominate a room with their size, throw their weight around and show off to everyone how powerful they were. Yet there was something almost apologetic in Donovan's aura. It caught me off-guard, but I couldn't help finding it endearing.

Jon caught my eye, an unspoken understanding passing between us. Aware that he could clearly see my aura, I hoped I looked as accepting and non-judgemental as I felt.

It must have been reflected in my lines, because my trained eye saw Jon's posture relax and the nervous tension flow out of him. He turned to Donovan and placed a hand on his arm. At his touch, I saw Donovan also settle into an easier stance, his insecurities flowing away instantly at that small gesture of reassurance.

I found myself swamped by rogue emotions again. I averted my gaze, but that didn't help, as lowering my eyes to the floor again only showed me how closely interwoven the two men's traces were.

It reminded me of myself and Cally. Our paths used to be like that, so close they were practically overlaid, proof to my eyes that we travelled through life together as a single unit.

Like most psychics, I had trouble reading myself. Since my ability relied on me being able to stand on a trace, and I was constantly standing atop my own trace while picking up others, I had trouble discerning mine. That was a big part of what Cally's anchoring had done for me: I couldn't see my own trace, but hers had been so intrinsically linked to mine, I could find my trace by following hers. These two men were similarly so close, they practically shared the same path.

More than that, I could feel their awareness of each other, how each of them subconsciously scanned the other's aura and safeguarded each other by looking out for threats, both physical and mental. Jon's concern about my judgement of his partner reverberated in my senses, comfort and reassurance echoing between the couple in a repeating feedback loop until I couldn't tell which of them it originated from. They likely weren't even aware of it, as it was second-nature for experienced psychics and anchors to guard each other like that, even when they didn't work in a hazardous industry like these investigators did. The danger they regularly encountered just strengthened the protective bonds between them.

I rarely saw anchor bonds as strong as this. The pair easily put some of the most devoted couples I'd ever seen to shame.

And it just rubbed my face in what I had lost, what I would never have again.

I quickly took a stern hold of myself. Much as I still dealt with my grief, I could hardly begrudge others for having a loving relationship. I didn't want to be bitter like that, especially not when Jon would clearly be able to see it.

I hopped back a few steps, which took me off Donovan's trace and also allowed me to not have to tilt my head back so far in order to make eye contact with him. I schooled my expression into something I hoped was neutral, keeping my gaze on Donovan, not daring to peek at Jon to see how he reacted to what he must have just seen in my aura. "Thanks for letting me step on your trace, Donovan. No wonder Jon feels well protected with you around, your trail is very steady."

Donovan flushed slightly at my words, making me glad that I had pulled myself together.

I was going to keep seeing happy couples around, unless I became a total hermit, and there was no way I could stay in one isolated spot long enough to become a completely recluse. I needed to learn how to be happy for others, instead of constantly feeling sorry for myself. Sure, my therapist said I would likely still undergo the grieving process on some level throughout the rest of my life. But that was no excuse for being a self-centred asshole.

Especially where the famed eyes-that-saw-everything could clearly see it all.

"There are a few more on our team you haven't met yet," Sharon said at my elbow. "We should probably introduce you to the boss next. Are you up for meeting Jim? After you've checked in with him, Carol and I need finalized some paperwork from the case we just finished. Once we hand it over to Marcy, we can take a break for lunch. If Sho and Garrett are around, you can meet them before we head out for a proper cousins' catch-up session. Sound good?"

"Sounds great. Let's go see Jim next then." I was used to meeting large multi-personnel teams and full departments on my cases, so stepping on so many new traces in quick succession wasn't too arduous for me.

Luckily I'd also managed to wrangle my composure back into place. It had been a while since I worked a case with other psychics, and even longer since I had encountered a psychic-anchor pairing who were also a romantic couple. Combine that with my cousins bringing back all kinds of memories of times I had spent with them back when Cally was alive, and the surprise trace I had stepped on at the airport that hinted at an urgent hospital visit - no wonder I was feeling all over the shop. I should probably call my therapist sometime in the next few days to talk it out, much as I was loathe to do that.

Following Sharon towards the office that had the business' founder Jim's nameplate by the door, I mentally centred myself as I had trained myself to do, focusing on the emotions I felt in my own trace, letting them ebb away with every step I took.

It had taken me a long time, and a lot of therapy, to find a sense of calm in my singular trace, where once I'd had Cally's beside it to guide me with her steady presence alongside mine. But now I could ground myself on my own trace, find motivation in walking my own path.

It was a solitary trail I walked these days, but that was fine. Everyone knew I was momentum in human form: no matter how rough the terrain I had to travel over, no matter what bumps and blips I stumbled over along the way, I would always just keep moving. As long as I could keep carrying myself forward, I would be fine.

And if I could hold myself together for the rest of my stay, I might even enjoy my time in Nashville, before it was time to move on.