“Take Sam, for instance. He came in the kitchen earlier and when he saw me working here he turned around and walked straight back out again. Said looking at all this blood made him feel sick.” His voice is rough and husky, eyes glinting beneath the dark overhang of his hair. Gently, he taps the knife against his temple. “He doesn’t have the stomach for it, see? You do though, Mina. You’ve been standing here for half an hour like it’s nothing. What does that tell you about yourself?”
