"Don't leave me!" the man in her dream growled as the glass flashed across her palm. Johanna sat up and the kitchen light stabbed her eyes. She yanked the blanket down with one hand and pressed the other to her chest where a cooling patch of phantom pain trembled. "Not again," she said out loud. She moved on instinct. Fingers went to the small chest scar peeking under her collarbone, the old riverbed line that didn't belong to the present. She traced it once, twice, then opened the battered file on the bedside table. "Eleven, file's messy tonight," she murmured, skimming through torn photos and nightlife receipts. The face she'd seen in the dream stared back from three different angles. No name, only snippets: a snapped bracelet, a racing decal, a hospital band with numbers cut out. A smell of oil and burnt rubber clung to the memory. She rubbed her thumb over a tear in a clipping that held a black leather cuff. The cuff had a symbol. She knew that symbol. Her phone vibrated on the table, the screen lighting the dark with the Harvest emblem only her circle used. She let it ring twice. Then she answered. "Eleven," a voice said, casual enough to be dangerous. "You wanted him found." "What do you mean found?" she asked. Her voice was steady but she kept her eyes on the file. "We found him," the voice repeated. "Alive." "Where?" She slid off the bed and