Before I can react, Agatha's cold, rough hand brushes my neck, then cups my cheek. Her touch sends shivers down my spine, but I brace myself, gasping as her so-called gift takes hold. My eyes roll back, and I'm plunged into darkness before being thrust back into a nightmarish memory: the night my adoptive parents were murdered.
I stand outside my home, holding a knife - no, not my hand. It's Agatha's. I recognize the opal ring coiled around her index finger like a venomous snake. She clutches the cold blade, the same one that ended my father's life, waiting for someone.
The night is cloaked in darkness, the only light coming from distant streetlamps. The moon is barely visible between the branches overhead. A sudden gust of wind alerts me to a presence. A man materializes, his back to me
