"What's there to talk about?" She sounds more on the verge of tears as her open hand flies up, the facade breaking into little pieces. "It happened. I was fourteen, on my way home from school and I made the stupid decision to take a shortcut through Central Park. Should have taken the subway or the sidewalk like other people, but I didn't. I didn't see him behind me. I never saw him. I smelled him and felt him, but I never saw him."

And if she ever walked past him afterwards, this is the only thing that saved that bastard from Kate's rage, the one she keeps deep down inside that no one knows exists. She's been angry for a long time, trying to channel it into martial arts and self defense, but every so often, in times like now, it likes to burn at the bottom of her stomach to remind her it's still there and always will be.