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Ella Dark had a love-hate relationship with the spotlight, and after ninety minutes of standing in it, she had a new respect for anyone who did this kind of thing regularly. She was sweating like a suspect in the box, because it was her job to dissect the art of criminal profiling for the eager faces in front of her without putting any of them to sleep.

So far, so good, although she was convinced the big guy at the end of row three had dropped off a few times. But still, one out of 200 wasn’t bad, she figured.

'In summary,' Ella said. She looked at her notes for effect, but she had this spiel down cold. She'd spent the last two weeks practicing it on Luca daily, much to his annoyance. 'Behavioral profiling isn't science, despite what some people claim. We can't figure out what toothpaste a perp uses just by looking at the crime scene, but we can narrow down physical traits, height, weight, walking gait, personality type, race, gender, sometimes even things like jobs, hobbies, living arrangements, relationships. It’s psychology, pattern recognition, common sense and blind luck all rolled into one. A behavioral profile is like the foundation of a house, and the hard evidence is the doors and windows. Put them together, and that's how we keep the bad guys locked up. Thank you.'

Ella dipped her head, and a round of applause followed. The students in the auditorium were tomorrow's judges, lawyers, psychiatrists, detectives, social workers, anything that came under the law enforcement banner. If she convinced just one that working for the FBI wasn't a terrible idea, she'd consider her job done.

The applause died down, and Ella squared her papers up. Now came the fun part.

‘Are there any questions? Doesn’t have to be about profiling, could be about the FBI in general. Go wild.’

Ella scanned the room and shook the feeling back into her legs as she waited for the hands to rise. Two weeks ago, she'd hunted a serial killer in Oregon, now dubbed the Scarecrow by the press, and she'd ended up dragging his body through flames to keep him alive. The blisters on her legs would remain a reminder for at least another few months, but it was all part of the job. You dance with the devil, you're going to get burned. She just didn't have the heart to tell her audience that .

A lily-white arm was waving in the second row like a flag of surrender. Ella pointed at the attached human, a perky-looking blonde with a megawatt smile. ‘Yes, miss.’

‘Agent Dark, what qualifications do you need to do your job?’

‘Good question. Most special agents are promoted from within, or hired from other agencies. You’ll have more chance of getting into the Bureau with a bachelor’s degree, but the subject is negligible. What matters more is experience – ideally in law enforcement or criminal justice. It's not something you can learn from a textbook.’

More hands popped up now. Ella pointed to a goth-looking woman in the fifth row; black hair, black everything, a visible scar on her cheek she’d tried to hide with makeup. A silver nose ring glinted in her left nostril, and a tattoo of some mystical-looking symbol peeked out from under her sleeve. A triangle inside a circle, from what Ella could see. She tipped her chin at the girl. ‘Yes, Wednesday Addams. Hit me.’

That got a chuckle out of a few people, including the girl in question, thankfully. But then her stare hardened. ‘You said female serial killers have different motives than men. With gender roles changing, do you think that might shift in the future?’

Sharp question, sharper gaze. This one had a brain behind that pound of concealer. ‘It's possible. Historically, female killers tend to be more pragmatic. They kill for money, security, to solve a problem. Men, on the other hand, are driven by ego, rage, perverse compulsions. But you're right, the lines are blurring. In the past twenty years we’ve seen killers like Joanna Dennehy, Melanie McGuire, Katherine Knight. Women who don’t fit the typical mold. I worked a case a few months ago in Atlantic City that involved a female serial killer named Adele Rose, and she had one of the most unique M.O.s I've ever seen, man or woman. She rigged daredevil stunts, so the performers died mid-act. So you might be right. The times they are a-changing.'

Ella pointed at a hand attached to a gangly guy in thick, Clark Kent glasses. She gave him a ‘go ahead’ flick of her wrist.

‘I was going to ask what the most unique M.O. you’ve ever seen was, but you just answered that,’ he laughed. ‘So… how does the job affect your personal life?’

Ella paused, considering the question. The job, the life – it wasn't for the faint of heart, that was for damn sure. She’d seen a hundred things she’d give anything to unsee, but she couldn't exactly unload all that baggage on a room full of starry-eyed students .

‘It's not easy,’ she admitted. ‘You see the worst of humanity and have no choice but to take it home with you. Doesn’t matter how tough you think you are, the things in this job stay with you. You just have to compartmentalize and find the good in the world.’

Better to get the truth out than sell these kids a fairytale. The job wasn't all flashy badges and dramatic arrests like on TV. It was long nights and cold coffee and the constant, gnawing knowledge that no matter how many killers you caught, there would always be more waiting in the wings.

But just as the atmosphere was getting a little too funereal for her taste, another hand shot up, this one belonging to a clean-cut guy in a crisp button-down. ‘Agent Dark, I saw you on the news a while back, putting that serial killer Austin Creed on death row. Is that a common occurrence?’

The mention of Creed’s name turned her stomach. Austin Creed. The Mimicker. Her first collar as a full-fledged agent and a media circus from start to finish. Two weeks ago, she’d provided a psychological profile that had aided the prosecution in securing Creed the lethal injection.

‘Putting killers on death row? No, that's not common. Most of the perps I've caught are still awaiting trial. The wheels of justice turn slowly, but they do turn. It’s taken nearly two years to sentence Creed and between us, the death penalty never sat right with me, but you don’t get a lot of choices in that regard…’ Ella trailed off. She let the comment hang because she wasn’t quite sure how to punctuate her point. A few faces looked on, intrigued. A few even seemed to be reevaluating their career choices right there and then. Good. Let them. Better to have that crisis of conscience now, in the safety of a lecture hall, than out in the field with a gun in their hand and a killer in their sights.

Way to end on a high note, Dark.

But before Ella could elaborate, or field the inevitable follow-up questions, a woman in a sleek pantsuit and severe bun materialized at the edge of the stage. The dean, or some other academic bigwig, come to usher Ella off before she could corrupt any more young minds with her tales of moral ambiguity.

‘Well, that's all the time we have for today,’ the woman chirped. ‘Let's give Agent Dark a big round of applause.’

The audience dutifully clapped with a few enthusiastic whoops and whistles thrown in there for good measure. Ella sketched a half-bow, happy that she’d done her part, planted the seeds of interest in a few promising recruits. Ella reached the lecturer’s lounge where she made a beeline for her partner who was leaning casually against a wall.

‘Always leave them wanting more, Ell,’ he said.

Ella shrugged off her blazer and draped it over one arm. The backstage area had a lot more exposed pipes than Ella expected from a top university, but that was always the case with establishments like this. Show the beauty, hide the grisly stuff beneath the surface.

‘What’d you think? I didn’t bore them to death, did I?’

‘I saw three people checking their phones, but that was it.’

‘That’s not bad. One guy fell asleep too.’

Luca pushed off the wall with a wince. Bandages peeked out from below the sleeves of his jacket. Third-degree burns, courtesy of the same monster that had mapped Ella’s legs with blisters. Short of a miracle, Luca’s burns would be a companion for the rest of his days – something that Luca had avoided addressing since it happened. She and him had both been excused from duty to heal, so he’d accompanied her to New York.

‘You did good, seriously. But if you held a gun to my head…’

‘Don’t hold back, Hawkins.’

‘You went overkill on that section about… overkill.’

‘I did?’

Ella had discredited the common myth that overkill suggested a personal connection between killer and victim. It was one of those falsehoods that had gained so much traction it was now difficult to debunk it, like how apparently liars never looked you in the eye. She hadn’t realized she’d gone off on a tangent.

‘A little bit.’

‘Anything else?’

Luca made a show of pondering. He tapped his chin and said, ‘Maybe next time liven it up a little. Throw in a few musical numbers. Or a magic trick.’

Ella checked her cell. Just after six PM. ‘I know a good magic trick. Making dinner disappear. What do you think about that?’

Luca clutched at his chest in mock horror. ‘This is New York City. Have you seen the prices here?’

‘I guess I’m buying.’

‘Thank God.’

A throat cleared behind them. Ella turned to find a woman hovering at the edge of their bubble of privacy. She was reed-thin with mousy brown hair down to her chin, wire-rimmed glasses perched on a narrow nose. Everything about her screamed academia , from her sensible shoes to the lanyard around her neck.

‘Excuse me, agents? Could I borrow you for a moment?’

‘Of course. Is everything okay?’

The woman twisted her hands together. A nervous tic, Ella noted. ‘It's one of our professors. Dr. Thornton. He's... missing.’