My life has been… rough. I spent most of my childhood in an asylum, and I’ve spent the better part of the last six years trying to deal with the fact that everything I touch tells me something about the last person who owned it, the person who made it, and sometimes several people in between. It’s exhausting, and I hate it. I will do pretty much anything to avoid doing it, in fact. Until a six-four, golden-eyed FBI agent walked through the door and dropped literal diamonds into my hands. Well, a diamond necklace. And he asked me to tell me everything I could about who’d owned it, who’d given it to her, and so on. I guess I have to learn how to control my abilities fast, or a murderer might go free. And I might lose my chance to impress the FBI agent who haunts my dreams. An M/M paranormal romance.