We might not. [It's a quiet agreement, but there's no reluctance in it. Just a quiet kind of confession to her words. She can feel fire against her face again, those flames that never seem to burn out, kept stoked by their awful fuel.

She'll accept the subject change.]

I took a forensic psychology class once. Or I tried to, anyway. How to get into the mind of a killer. I didn't last very long. It wasn't a place I wanted to be.