“It all makes sense,” said Matt. He ran his hands through his hair, his eyes unfocused, pacing the room, his fingers trembling. “It’s the perfect crime. What better way to hide a murder than to make it look like suicide?”

“We don’t know that,” Jane muttered, stock still, staring, “We don’t know anything.” But said aloud, the excuses sounded weak, undermined by the hammering in her chest.

Matt didn’t hear her or he chose to ignore. “Psychic possession can trigger bleeding,” he said, “Ears, nose, eyes, anywhere with fragile capillaries. The increased pressure on the brain triggers-”

“I know about the goddamn Bleeds!” Jane snapped. She pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “But… making someone off themselves? Over… over this, this device?! Over one invention?”

“Not just any invention,” Matt replied, still pacing, “A way to give non-psychics psychic powers. Can you imagine? It would’ve been a disaster for them! Worse than Psy-Block, worse than any court ruling, worse than anything that would’ve stopped their abilities. The second this device went public, every natural-born psychic in the world would’ve been redundant.” He turned to her, the words tumbling out unstoppable, a fever, a cascade. “Suddenly, they’re not special anymore, not valuable – the monopoly is broken, the industry collapses. Who needs to pay a psychic a hundred and fifty K when you can buy telepathy from Wal-Mart for nineteen ninety-five?”

Matt shook his head bitterly. “It probably never even crossed Ed’s mind. He just thought he was designing some new technology, when to a psychic he was threatening their very identity.”

“But how would they have even known?” Jane asked angrily, “It wasn’t like he went around blabbering about his work, how could they have even known what he was working on?”

“He told me,” Matt replied, shaking his head again, “I didn’t even think, I told him he should talk about it, said it was cool. God, maybe he listened. Maybe he told Giselle and then she told someone – maybe they overheard. Maybe someone illegally read his mind.” His expression darkened. “Or Cassandra. Cassandra was a psychic. Maybe she knew, maybe she read a clairvoyant’s mind and then she…” But even as Matt articulated the idea he seemed to realise it didn’t make much sense. The words died in his mouth, then he paused and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. One way or another, a psychic found out what he was up to.”

“And they killed him to keep it quiet,” muttered Jane, going along in spite of herself, “Took control of his mind, walked him up to the highest point of Morningstar and made him jump off.” She gritted her teeth, wanting to slam her fist into the wall.

“Those monsters,” breathed Matt. He turned on his heels, striding back along the length of the room, head trembling as he paced, hands balled into fists. Jane had never seen him so agitated. “Those clever-” he swore heavily “-monsters. It’s so easy to pull off, so easy to fake. Because it’s the stereotype, isn’t it?” He laughed, a cold, mirthless laugh. “Oh poor unstable geniuses, so erratic, so prone to depression, unable to cope with their own thoughts. Nobody thinks twice when one of them kills themselves. Nobody bothers to take a closer look, do anything more than feel bad, because why would they, everyone knows that’s just what geniuses do. Not to mention it’s hard to check a brain for psychic tampering when it’s splattered all over the ground.”

“It all fits,” agreed Jane, “Except...” she hesitated, “What about the message? That still doesn’t make sense.”

“Yeah, it does,” countered Matt. He knelt back in front of the computer and clicked through the pictures on the screen. “Look,” he said, pointing to the picture of Ed suspended in mid-air, “There. As he’s falling. On the side of his body. See that light?”

Jane peered close. “Looks like a snowflake on the lens,” she said, looking up. Matt shook his head.

“Look again,” he assured her, moving through to the next frame. Sure enough, the tiny spec of white, no more than a few pixels, moved too. “It’s his phone. His Kinetic phone.”

The penny dropped. “Holy crap,” whispered Jane.

“Yeah,” Matt nodded fervently, “I’m willing to bet anything that whoever was inside his head bailed out at the last second. Maybe they didn’t want to feel what it was like to die, maybe Ed was fighting them. Either way, between leaving the roof and hitting the ground, Ed regained control.”

“Anyone else would’ve panicked,” said Jane, staring at the picture in awe.

“But not Ed,” Matt agreed, “He’s faster than that. He knows he’s going to die. He works out he’s got two, maybe three seconds. Not enough to save himself-”

“-but enough to send a message,” Jane breathed, not daring to believe, “If you were a world‑record typist. Just one word.”

“Exactly.” They looked at each other, a shared mixture of horror and revelation mingling on their faces. But then the barb of an unpleasant thought creased Jane’s forehead.

“But why ‘Dawn’?” she asked, frowning at the tiny scraps of light in the photo, “Why that?”

Matt paused, following her gaze. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally, “That’s the one bit I still can’t figure out. Why Dawn? What’s he got to do with all of this? He’s not a psychic and he’s already worth billions-”

“Which he uses for the good of mankind,” Jane interjected.

“-which he uses for the good of mankind,” Matt muttered, for some reason sounding slightly annoyed at this important clarification, “Which means it’s not like he’d be in it for the money.”

“Dawn wasn’t involved,” insisted Jane, adamant, “So it’s got to be a warning. Or a call for help. It might not even be referring to the Captain.” Then she paused. “What about the kid?” she asked, almost reluctantly, “Where does he fit in?”

Matt hesitated. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally, “But whoever he is, I think he’s on our side.” He bit his cheek. “He warned me Morningstar was dangerous. He led me to the photographs. He told me I needed to stay hidden – maybe he meant from psychics.” He stopped, then turned to Jane. “I don’t know what Cassandra was trying to tell us. I don’t know whether she thought he was good or bad, whether they’re enemies or on the same side. I don’t even know if there are sides. I don’t know who he is or what he’s doing or why the hell he can’t just be direct, but the more I think about it, the more I just can’t shake the feeling that maybe he’s trying to help.”

Jane’s face creased. “Assuming it’s all real,” she said, “Assuming this isn’t some trick.”

“Which brings us back to square one,” Matt said bitterly, slumping against the bed. But Jane shook her head.

“Screw square one,” she countered, “This is real, this is big picture.”

“Huge picture, actually,” said Matt, “There’re millions of psychics.” He paused, and shot an unwilling glance at the laptop’s screen. “And you’re right. Every one of those pictures could be photo-shopped. This whole thing could be a set-up.”

“To frame psychics?” frowned Jane, “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Matt admitted, “I don’t know who or how. It could all be fake, we can’t- I mean we still can’t properly rule out suicide.” To Matt’s credit, he didn’t hold back from voicing the idea, but his mouth did twist like he’d swallowed sour milk.

Jane considered for a moment, then shook her head. “We’re not locking anyone up,” she said, “We’re not going to the police or pointing fingers. Right now, all we’re doing is digging because either way, something weird is going on.”

“Right,” Matt murmured. For a second, the two of them just sat, still and silent, staring at the screen.

“So what now?” Jane asked eventually. “Any ideas?”

Matt paused, and chewed at his knuckle. “We need more to go on.”

“Like what?”

“Like what happened in the lab.”

“How the hell are we meant to figure that out?”

“There were cameras.”

“Right,” grimaced Jane, “And Acolytes don’t have access to the security feed.”

Matt’s gaze flicked to her, and the corners of his mouth twitched.

“No,” he replied, eyes gleaming, “But the police do.”

*****

“Detective Warbrook,” Matt mumbled, “I’m so sorry to call you like this, I hope this isn’t a bad time…”

“It’s just officer,” Warbrook replied, although he didn’t sound too unhappy to be addressed by the title. On the other end of the phone, Matt silently smirked at the compliment implied in his ‘mistake’. “It’s good to hear from you buddy. How can I help?”

“It… it’s not…” Matt stammered, weaving the technopath’s business card between his fingers and pretending to choke up between words, “I mean, I don’t know if you can…”

“Try me,” the technician said kindly, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Matt swallowed noisily. “Thank you,” he murmured, “I just… I need…”

There was a place and a purpose for everything, Matt believed – and it was time for his grief to make itself useful. He reached inside his mind to the little box where he’d sealed off his feelings of misery, the memories of Ed’s death, and threw himself amongst them, letting them wash over him in waves. Tears sprung up in his eyes and bands of retching sadness wrapped around his chest, his words bubbling up between heart-wrenching, pitiful sobs.

“It’s just… Ed’s parents they… they asked me if I could m-make… make him a v-video, something to r-remember him by, for Thursday, for the… the... the…” As he tried to say ‘funeral’, Matt’s voice wavered and broke, his grief spilling in hot, damp rivers out and down his face. The taste of salt mingled in his mouth, the tears staining wet throughout his words. He shuddered, sucking in air, and forced himself to go on.

“For the funeral,” he continued, his voice still unsteady but nevertheless pressing determinedly forward, “And I was… well see, I don’t have much of him and I wondered… if there was any chance… I know it’s a long shot… but I remembered a lady working on the cameras and I thought… maybe just… whatever you had… whatever we could… to remember him by…” And he broke down into tears again, his breaths coming in mangled, sobbing gasps.

“Hey, hey, come on,” soothed Warbrook, his concern audible on the other end of the line. There was a pause on the officer’s side while ninety percent of Matt continued to sob into the phone, the remaining ten percent keeping a close ear out for whether the technician would take the bait.

“I know you’re really busy,” hiccupped Matt, “And I know I’m asking a lot, it’s just… it’s all I can do, and I just want to do the best I can, and…”

“Look,” Warbrook conceded. He let out a long, heavy sigh, “Let me see what I can do. I don’t think we’ve got much, mainly just the few hours before-” he hurriedly trailed off “-but I’ll see what I can find, alright, and I’ll send it through. What’s your email address?”

Between shaky, snivelling breaths, Matt told him. Then he proceeded to stutter mumbled thanks over and over again to the sympathetic technopath.

“It’s nothing, it’s really nothing,” Warbrook assured him, “Really, anything I can do to help. I’ll send through something soon.”

“Thank you so much,” sniffled Matt.

“You’re really welcome buddy. And again, I’m just so sorry for your loss.”

The called ended. Matt drew a long, shuddering breath, then exhaled and promptly sat back up, dabbing his eyes on his sleeve. “Video should be coming through shortly,” he informed Jane matter‑of-factly, any trace of unhappiness dispersed and his voice returned entirely to normal. Jane – who’d been sitting beside him the whole time looking increasingly uncomfortable and hovering awkwardly back and forth as if unsure whether to be giving Matt space or support – recoiled like she’d been stung.

“The hell was that?!” she yelped.

“What?” shrugged Matt, eyes a little red but otherwise nonchalant.

“You can cry on command?” she asked incredulously, gaping at him.

“What, you can’t?” he replied.

“No,” spluttered Jane, “I’m not a psychopath!”

“Your loss,” said Matt. He glanced from her to his open inbox. “Because it pays off.”

Jane reluctantly turned back to the computer, still slightly perturbed. “Well what now?”

“We need to know more about psychics,” Matt replied. He clicked open Google, but to his surprise Jane stood up, her eyes bright and a wry grin spreading over her face.

“Stay there,” she said, heading for the door, “I’ve got a better idea.”