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"For the apartment?" I ask.
She scoffs. "No, no," she says. "For the room. Little slice of paradise right here."
"Jesus," I say. "I guess you’re paying for location."
"And very little else, yes," she says. "Sit wherever you want, I guess."
I sit on the bed, near the computer. She pulls her chair out and turns to look at me. "Why are you here, demonhunter?" she asks softly.
"Because we have a client who you might know," I tell her simply. "And I’m concerned that your cases are related to each other."
Her eyes narrow. "I don’t know much about my case. I don’t remember much."
"That’s okay," I say. "I was there for your case. I’m just wondering if you know him."
"What’s his name?"
"Tom Souter," I reply. "He’s a kid, nineteen, I think he’s…"
I pick up my head to look at her, and she’s paled, barely able to hold herself up. "Yes," she says. "I know him. He’s a friend. Is he okay?"
She sounds genuinely concerned. And I have no fucking idea how I’m supposed to tell her this. "I’m sorry, Trine," I say. "I think there’s a chance he’s possessed."
