62If you are in a position where you must stab someone in the skull, it would be helpful to know the forehead is not the optimal target. The thinnest part of the cranial vault is the temporal region of our ears. The bone is about 4 millimeters thick.
It takes about 540 newtons (approx. 121 pounds of force) to penetrate the skull in the forehead, whereas the temporal region takes roughly 255 (57 pounds of force).
If you ever find yourself overcrowded at a dinner party, sharing this fact should give you the space you desire.
Chapter 25
Avery
Avery knew she didn’tneedSaga with her on interviews. It had, of course, been nice to have someone there, someone to help dissect the events and collaborate on ideas with, but she had worked alone—she used to think she workedbestalone.
No. She still thought that. She was just rusty was all. Two hundred years out of practice would do that to anyone, but eventually, she would hit her stride again.
Yet despite feeling very confident about this inevitability, Avery could not shake the unmistakable pang of disappointment. She wanted Saga to be there, just as she hadwantedto tell her earlier that morning what Reza had found out about Eira’s will.
It was no good. It wasn’t right. If anything, it was downright dangerous feeling this way about someone.
For starters, Saga was helping because she was directly involved with this case. She had a strong emotional investment to get to the bottom of everything. A fact, Avery had to concede, that would have normally been reason enough for her to insist that someone stayed far away from her case.
Why was this different? What had changed?
The only logical conclusion she could draw was herself.Shehad changed. Or perhaps through an onslaught of endless nightmares and fear, she hadbeenchanged.
Avery frowned as she considered for the first time that it was possible after this was over, Saga would simply be her neighbor once more. Wasshe more upset by the idea that Saga wouldn’t wish to continue working together, or that she herself felt so strongly about it?
She stewed over this, shifting back and forth between anger at herself and what she could only identify as “irritatingly human angst.”
It must have given her a certain threatening authoritative air, because the porter didn’t even try to question her as she passed, merely opened the door.
The concierge at the front desk didn’t notice her as she walked toward the elevator.
Unlike Elis’s building, this was less opulent in its design, but it did feel more “modern,” utilizing primarily dark wood, glass, and steel, which was broken up by hanging interior gardens. She checked the address, entered the elevator, and pressed the button for the second floor.
Saga seemed to enjoy Avery’s company. Perhaps that was reason enough for her to at least weigh in on future cases.
Avery scuffed the toe of her boot against the hardwood floor absently. Why did she feel like such a child about this? Why did it feel like it mattered so much? Even when the Irregulars were around, they were a group she could bring cases to as needed—as a group. Individually each of them would occasionally weigh in, but it was never a matter of them working with her side by side the entire time.
Her hands balled into fists and relaxed again. There would be time later to deal with all of this. Or, if she was very lucky, by the time she had wrapped up the case, these feelings would no longer be relevant.
She stalked down the hallway to 201 and knocked, perhaps a little too forcefully. She took a deep breath. Calm. Collected. This was not the place or time to be brooding over something that first, made no sense to brood about—but second, had yet to even happen.
The door opened revealing the same golden-haired boy she’d met at the funeral. His face went through a few expressions; concern intermixed with confusion until recognition struck and melted into an overconfident smirk. “Well, hello again…” His confidence wavered as it became obvious he had forgotten Avery’s name. “Miss…?”
Avery retrieved the glamoured notebook from her breast pocket, flashing the illusion of a badge from Scotland Yard. “Detective Inspector Avery Hemlock.”
The smirk vanished, his mouth forming a small “o” shape in surprise. “Oh. That’s right.” He cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, suddenly looking far more like the boy he was. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I just need to ask you a few routine questions.”
Confusion again. “About what?”
“Murder,” said Avery in a tone that she realized was perhaps too casual, because his face immediately drained of color.
“M-murder?!” Benjamin squeaked.
