“Mail, you two.” Jubal tossed envelopes and small packages to us. Noelle caught hers with one hand. Mine landed in my lap. Something shifted, went sideways and down. I was sucked down with it, down, deep and fast. A spiral, a whirlpool. Blackness closed in. Blood. So much blood. Pain. Pain. I hurtled from the chair, scattering the mail. “No!”

I recoiled on the far side of the room. Bounced off the wall and cowered there. Scrunched against the corner. Slid down in a small heap of terror. Someone was screaming. Whimpering. Moaning. It was me. And I couldn’t stop.

“Tyler?” Jubal’s voice sliced through the agony.

I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. And I stared at the packages. Three of them. Blood and pain. Davie.

“Get Evan. Get Bartlock,” I whispered. “Close the store. Quick. Noe, go to the loft. Please. Keep Jane upstairs. Don’t let her back down.” With a sudden jab, the headache was there, just over my left eye. It rammed at me, a pickax of pain. I rocked back my head, eyes closed against the shrill ache and the sight of the boxes on the floor.

I didn’t hear their responses, was aware only vaguely of movement. When I opened my eyes, all I could see was the packages, still scattered on the shop floor. I couldn’t look away. I could only stare at the packets as tears ran down my face. Davie. Oh, God. Davie. Finally my moans went silent. And then I heard only the sound of my breathing.

I don’t know how long it took Evan to get there, but he was huffing for breath when he arrived, coat lapels undone and flapping. He knelt in front of me, his hands cold on my face from an outside run. “What is it?” he asked me.

I focused on his eyes. Green, gentle. With odd-colored flecks in the irises, like the brown of old wood. “They cut Davie.” I was whispering, tears a solid rain down my cheeks. “They sent me pieces of him.”