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The corridor is as long and wide as all the others on the lower floors, but the door we go through leaves us at the top of the stairs to the second floor. There is no blood on the steps. They didn't even have time to walk down the hallway. Jonathan's followers were taken away, but he's here.

"Wait," I ask the policeman. He interrupts the steps he would take away and turns his head to look at me. "Do you have a knife?”

I have rarely noticed the features of a man trained to serve to show so much annoyance. I can't censor him for wanting to prevent me from continuing to sink into this thirst for revenge. He knows I won't change my mind just by looking at my face. I must look completely crazy right now. Maybe it is.

A combat knife is delivered to my hands. The handle is short and made of wood, and the sharp blade is curved, making it even more deadly dangerous. I test the "footprint" I can make with the object, changing hands and feeling the air cutting through the shiny metal. I decide i