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"They came in through the side door in the mortuary. It was locked when Daniel checked it at midnight."

"Because they locked it behind them. They had a key, Constantine. Somebody gave them a key to my fucking house."

"We're going through a list of everyone who's ever had access. It's a short list and all the keys were returned, Laszlo. We've changed the locks a few times, tightened security. That's the problem."

"Read it to me anyway."

He does. Six names, and I remember every one of them.

"Now tell me which of those six was in the building this week. Deliveries, maintenance, anything. I want to know who came through that door and when. It’s only the regulars who have a key, all vetted."

"I can do that, but it will take a minute."

"And the ear. Rafe has it?"

"Uh-huh."

"I want to know whose it is by tonight. If Rafe has to visit every man in the city missing part of his head, he can start now. That person is probably dead, but I’ll cover all the bases."

"You need to sleep."

"I'll sleep when I know who was standing beside my wife's bed."

I hang up on my brother. I call Rafe next, then Daniel, and make it clear to both that if a camera ever goes dark for eleven minutes again and somebody calls it a flicker, they'll find out exactly how patient I'm not. Daniel responds with ‘yes, boss,’ several times. I want to burn the whole world down.

The hardest thing is the waiting. I don't know what to do with myself, so I decide to make coffee. I don’t even want it, but the routine of grinding the beans and having everything just so is soothing. It’s one thing I can’t get wrong. Sensing she’s awake, I make two. I put the mugs on the counter, side by side, handles pointing the same way. I straighten them. Then I hear a door open, and soft footsteps on the tile. I don't turn around because I don’t think I'm ready to look at her.

"Morning," she says.

"There's coffee."

She comes up next to me, and only then do I notice she's wearing my sweater. She must have taken it off the chair. I like seeing her in my clothes, and I like having her near me, knowing exactly where she is if anything bad comes our way. She reaches for one of the mugs, all warm and rumpled and half awake, and my whole chest hurts just from having her that close.

I take it out of her hand and turn it so the handle lines up with the other one. "It’s still empty." Then I fill both and push hers back toward her without looking at her. My tone is gruff, I can tell. She flinches and moves back from me, and something inside my chest cracks. I’ve been trying to forget what she said to me last night, but that is fucking impossible.

I drag a hand through my hair. How do I convince my wife that I’d never hurt her? She’s seen in person what I can do with my bare hands…

I pick up my mug then put it down carefully, because my hands are not to be trusted. I stare at the back of them.

"What's wrong with you?" I ask, finally facing her. She looks tired, but I can't read her expression beyond that.

"Nothing."

"You … you are scared of me."

"I’m not."

“You flinched when I spoke, just now, like last night.”

"Manon, I know what your face looks like when you're about to throw something at me, and I know what it looks like when you're waiting to be hit, and that was the second one. It doesn’t happen much, so it stands out even more." I know my voice is rough and I'm talking too loud, too fast. I’m making it worse, but I can’t stop. "So I'll ask you again. What is wrong with you?"

"Don't do that." She's got both hands around the small cup now, as if hanging on to that warmth. "Don't ask me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that. Like you asked Daniel. I heard you when you were talking to him. Hard."

"Daniel let a man walk into my house."