You know how in the movies the main character shoots upward in bed after a nightmare gasping for air? That's a pretty accurate depiction of what it actually looks like. I'm actually wailing with tears pouring down my cheeks. It takes me a second to realize it wasn't real, and even after I find myself in my bed, I can't shake the aftershocks.

Joel had felt real and warm to the touch. I could've sworn we were together, and that the nightmare was truly playing out.

"No," I cry. "No, no, no."

"Violet!" Betsy opens my door in an instant, eyes wide with fright and her baseball bat in one hand. She softens when she sees I'm alone, dropping the weapon to the floor. "Oh, Violet. What happened?"

I shake my head, heels of my hands pressed against my eyes in an attempt to stop my crying.

She sits down on the bed next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. I know she's probably confused, maybe even a little scared, but she doesn't ask any questions or demand anything of me. She just holds me steady while I fall apart.

I have to tell the chief. That's the only thing clear to me. Every instinct wants me to protect myself, but I can't live with myself if I end up pulling the trigger. I can't live with myself if I let him fall for me and end up taking everything from him. My guilt is coming to me in my sleep now. It's gone on long enough.

The worst part of it all is that I can't love him.

If I love him, it'll only destroy me more.

I don't even remember Betsy leaving my room, but at some point, she slips away to give me space. In self-pity, I stay in bed facing the window and staring out at the sky until the sun comes up. When dawn arrives and the workday begins, I don't waste any time in getting downstairs to my bike and making a beeline for the station. I'm probably going way too fast, but in my haste, I don't notice. I'm anxious, wild, flooring it into the parking garage.

And then I'm running.

I take the stairs two at a time because I'm too rattled to wait for the elevator. H2 is only a few floors up. It would normally hurt to run up the stairs for this length of time, but I don't notice. I think I've started crying again, weeping like a baby when I finally get the door to H2 open.

Of course. Of course, Joel would be sitting at his desk when almost no one else is here. He rises, lips parting to say my name, to ask me what's happened to get me like this. I flinch when he moves toward me. I actually flinch.

Please don't, I beg in my mind. Please don't come near me.

I bolt into the chief's office, grateful to find he's alone. Slamming the door behind me, I immediately get his attention the second I'm in the room.

"Violet?" Chief asks carefully. "Hey, what's wrong? What happened?"

"I-I d-didn't m-mean—"

My words are coming out in scattered syllables, messy and frantic. The tears are choking me, like a noose around my neck. I'm gasping for breath, partially from the running and partially from my body protesting the confession trying to force its way out.

"Slow down, Carrigan," he urges. "Breathe."

Chief is a father. While he doesn't seem like he has a gentle side, he definitely does right now. His instinct isn't to be a boss; it's to help me. I need to tell him what's going on, but I can barely take an even breath, let alone make any sensible conversation.

"I k-kill h-him." I cup a hand over my mouth.

"Who?" he questions. "What on Earth do you mean by that?"

"I-n my v-vision. I w-watched it h-happen."

"I need you to stop crying," Chief tells me. "You don't make a lick of sense when you're all worked up like this. Take a breath and then help me understand what you mean by that."

For a second, I just stand there, wiping at my eyes and blowing my nose in the tissue he provides me. When I'm composed enough to speak, I do.

"When I first met Joel, I lied about what I saw. In my vision, we were in an abandoned house. It was dark and someone was telling me that I had to shoot Joel or he would. I don't know who was holding the gun to my head. All I know is that Joel was shot. And I don't know for sure, but I think it was me who did it." I crumple into a chair, shattering. "I think I'll kill him. If fate plays out, I'll kill Joel Reed."

"But you're not certain?" he clarifies. His face bears no indication of what he's thinking.

"I'm not," I admit. "But I don't want him to die because of me."

"Let me tell you something, Carrigan." Chief crosses his arms and sits on the edge of his desk, eyes locked on mine because he wants me to fully comprehend exactly what he's saying. "Every time I hear about a murder, I want to go out there and keep it from playing out. I go home and I think to myself that if there's anything right in this world, it won't happen. Even if I arrest you now, there's no guarantee that he'll be spared. You don't know who the other party involved is. We don't have any way to know if you pull the trigger or he does."

I nod, even though it's tearing me apart to know that there might be nothing I can do.

"So when the time comes, if he dies and it's your doing, I will do everything I can to help you. Because I know that you, Violet Carrigan, are not a killer. I know that you wouldn't hurt him unless you absolutely had to." Chief holds my gaze. "You're more than an intern, Carrigan, you're my friend. And I believe that you're better than that. Even if we can't save Joel, we can save you."

It's not me I'm worried about.

"Listen to me very carefully. You will not tell Reed about this. If either of you tries to stir the pot too much, fate will most definitely play itself out. I have a feeling the hackers have something to do with this. I can call in a couple favors from the FBI to track down the IP address of whoever did it and work to get their operation shut down. If we find them, both you and Reed walk out of this intact."

All I can say is, "Yeah."

I don't like that there's nothing that can be done. I don't like that I'm just supposed to sit back and accept that whatever is happening here is unchangeable.

"I should've told you," I said. "It was selfish of me not to."

"You came clean," Chief reminds me.

"What if it's too late?" I dare to wonder.

"What if it's not?" he counters.

There's nothing more I can say. I've gotten it off my chest, but it hasn't helped lessen the sting any. Chief doesn't try to comfort me further. He doesn't continue the talk because he doesn't want to make me feel worse.

I do my best to clean my face off, to get myself together before I have to see anyone else. More detectives are getting here now, and the Valerie Grant case is still pertinent and occupying most of my attention. If I'm beside myself, I can't help. I'd rather not let that happen.

After a few minutes, Chief dismisses me, sitting down at his desk to make a few calls.

I find Joel in moments, sliding into the chair beside him. He already pulled one up for me, as if waiting for me to come out. I see he's also left an unopened bottle of cold water next to it, like he knew I would need it. My throat is raw, so I take a greedy sip.

"Are you okay?" he asks gently.

"Yeah," I lie.

"Are you sure?"

No. "Yes."

He reaches out and tucks my hair back to get a better glimpse of me. He can undoubtedly see how swollen my eyes are and how red the apples of my cheeks are. The tears are still probably drying, leaving behind shiny tracks.

"We don't have to talk," he says. "And you also don't have to lie."

I swiftly change the subject. "What's the news on Kevin Grant?"

"He's being let out in six hours," Joel tells me. "That sick man is just going to be let out. I questioned him again this morning, and I just knew. He's guilty. He's guilty and he knows we can't prove it."

He pinches the bridge of his nose, slouching in defeat. It's hardly a good sign.

"Maybe Stan found something?" I suggest.

It's well into the morning now. In the short span of time I spent in the chief's office, the other detectives had flooded into H2 and started working again on their respective cases. Despite how it looks, something isn't right here. Something is really off about today, and it starts with the fact that Stan is late. Stan is never late. He prides himself in the fact he's never been late.

"Speaking of which," I continue. "Have you talked to him today? Is he here yet?"

Joel shakes his head. "I don't think so. He probably overslept."

I bite down on my thumbnail and fumble for my phone so I can call him. As it rings, I hope desperately for an answer, but all I get is a voicemail greeting.

My stomach begins to twist as paranoia sets in.

"Did you get ahold of him?" Joel asks me as he flicks through the file we have with all the evidence we've collected.

"No," I say gravely. "I've got this bad feeling."

"He's probably okay, Vi." Joel reaches for my hand, taking it reassuringly. "I'm—"

He doesn't get to finish. Someone comes bursting through the doors of H2, a rookie, and he's panting as he demands to see the chief.

One of the other detectives stops him. "What happened? Why do you need to see the chief?"

"We need him to ID someone," he says, keeling over as he gasps for air. "There was a shootout with police downtown. A detective was taken hostage during a pharmacy robbery."

A memory surfaces inside my mind. A death from several months ago, long before I started working with the NYPD. No wonder I feel like I have deja vu. I'm familiar with this situation.

No. No. That vision didn't have Stan in it. It couldn't be him.

It was a robber who'd just killed a man. He'd managed to shoot a detective right in the head before dozens of police weapons fired on him. He took several rounds to the chest and died almost instantly. I never saw the detective's face.

I never reported it because I'd honestly forgotten the vision. I never knew it would come back to haunt me.

Denial is the only thing keeping me from passing out.

It can't Stan, anyone but Stan.

"Who?" a woman shouts from the other side of the room. Her question is lost in the uproar of every other person in H2 wondering the same thing.

"We don't know yet," he says. "That's why we need the chief to ID him."

Chaos continues to bloom around us. A million conversations are happening all at once. The only quiet ones are Joel and me. I can tell he's just as stunned as I am.

The chief's arrival into the room silences all the chatter. He commands respect as he takes a few long strides to the rookie. He's so much calmer than everyone else in the room, but I feel like he's probably masking his true emotions. If anyone is good at keeping himself in check for the greater good, it's him.

His voice doesn't waver as he says, "I'm gonna send Detective Reed on my behalf. I want full details in my report. You will write it. Are we understood?"

There's a razor-sharp edge in his voice that makes the rookie respond frantically. "Yes, sir."

As Chief walks away, Joel immediately follows him with a stoic expression. I'm standing still in disbelief, wondering if maybe I could have stopped this. Maybe I could've if I had just forced myself into watching Stan die. I would know definitively who passed away today if it happened that way.

I keep thinking that there are so many things that I could've stopped but didn't. If I can't save Stan or Karen or anyone else, how can I think Joel will be okay?

"Vi?" Joel murmurs, shocking me out of my thoughts. I hadn't even realized he'd left the office, let alone that he was standing beside me.

"Yeah," I whisper, my voice almost about to break.

"There's a good chance it's—"

"I know."

"You can stay here if you want. Or go home. I'll take you home if you want," he offers. "You don't have to come."

"I'm coming with you." I give him a watery half-smile. "For Stan."

We head out of H2 with several eyes on us.