The walls of the interrogation room felt closer now, like they had shifted inward when I wasn’t paying attention. I traced the small scratches on the surface of the metal table, my fingers still curled around the strap of my bag like it might anchor me. My muscles ached from the stiffness of sitting in the same position for too long, but I didn’t move. Not yet.

  Dr. Zaraki stood near the door, quiet, patient. The other man, Mr. Staroko, had finished collecting their documents, stacking them neatly as though this were a transaction rather than a turning point in my life. Neither of them seemed in a hurry, but there was an unspoken pressure in the air—one that told me I would be leaving with them whether I was ready or not.

  The silence stretched. My mouth felt dry. “I… I want answers.”

  Dr. Zaraki met my gaze, his voice steady and level. "This is not the place to talk."

  I swallowed. It wasn’t dismissive, but it wasn’t an invitation for argument either. My hands curled tighter around the strap of my bag, the fabric digging into my palm.

  Mr. Staroko adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves before speaking. "It would be in your best interest to come with us, Ms. Raine."

  His words weren’t forceful, but they carried the weight of inevitability. I had no home. No monastery. Nothing. The truth sat like a stone in my stomach, heavy and cold.

  I hesitated, my fingers gripping the fraying edge of my sleeve. My thoughts kept circling back to Father Reynaud’s last words.

  "If everything goes wrong, find Howling Mad Zaraki."

  He could have sent me to another priest. Someone within the Church. Someone safe.

  But he hadn’t.

  Dr. Zaraki watched me, his expression unreadable. Then he spoke again, quiet but absolute.

  "If Father Reynaud didn’t trust me, he wouldn’t have told you to find me."

  The truth in his words sent a ripple through my thoughts. Even though Reynaud had warned me about him—even though I had felt the weight of something unspoken whenever his name came up—he had still chosen him.

  Sheriff Whitaker let out a slow breath, shifting his stance. "Ms. Raine, it would be in your best interest to go with Mr. Zaraki. With the monastery burned down and its members deceased, you do not have a home. By law, Mr. Zaraki here is your legal guardian. Based on the evidence we have so far and your story, I don’t think we need you here."

  The words pressed into my chest, final and absolute.

  Legal guardian.

  The room felt colder. My stomach clenched as I stared at the tabletop, my thoughts clouded by exhaustion. I barely knew Dr. Zaraki. I barely knew anything about him.

  But there was no other option.

  A hollow feeling spread beneath my ribs as I forced a slow breath through my nose. I didn’t answer, just gave a small, reluctant nod.

  Staroko took that as a signal, pulling out a sleek business card and handing it to Whitaker. A formal exchange. Something neat and clean. I envied that kind of certainty.

  A chair scraped against the floor as I pushed myself up, my body feeling heavier than it should. My legs were stiff, my shoulders tense as I adjusted the strap of my bag. Dr. Zaraki stepped forward and offered his hand.

  I stared at it.

  Not demanding. Not expectant.

  Just waiting.

  I didn’t take it.

  Instead, I shifted my bag higher on my shoulder and turned toward the door. Dr. Zaraki led us out.

  The hallway beyond the interrogation room was quiet, but not empty. The overhead fluorescents buzzed faintly, casting a sickly glow over the tiled floors. The main department was still active, officers moving between desks, conversations murmuring in the background.

  My footsteps felt too loud as we walked.

  I was aware of every glance sent my way.

  Some officers only gave us a passing look before returning to their reports, but others lingered just a second too long, their gazes assessing. I felt exposed in a way I hadn’t before, like I was something being catalogued rather than just another person passing through.

  Mr. Staroko walked beside me, his stride even and unhurried, as if he belonged here just as much as the officers who worked these desks. Dr. Zaraki moved with that same effortless presence, his expression unreadable as ever. No hesitation. No uncertainty.

  I envied that.

  A few officers I passed gave me a small nod—one of acknowledgment, maybe sympathy—but I didn’t know how to respond. Instead, I kept my head down, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag.

  When we reached the front desk, I hesitated.

  I could still turn back. I could still ask to stay.

  But no one said anything.

  No one stopped me.

  The cold hit me the moment we stepped outside, sharp and biting, cutting straight through my hoodie. The sheriff’s department doors slid shut behind us with a finality that settled deep in my bones. Snow crunched under my shoes, and I realized just how much of it still blanketed the town. The streets were quiet, the soft glow of streetlights reflecting off layers of ice and untouched drifts pushed to the sides of the road.

  The air smelled of frozen asphalt and wood smoke, the lingering scent of someone’s fireplace drifting from the houses nearby. Everything felt still. Too still.

  Dr. Zaraki walked ahead, reaching for the black Chevy Tahoe parked near the curb. Mr. Staroko moved with him, checking his watch before glancing up toward the sky. I hesitated, adjusting the strap of my bag over my shoulder, the chill of the metal buckle biting against my fingers.

  A gust of wind stirred loose snow from the rooftops, sending a fine mist of ice crystals through the air. My breath came out in soft clouds, but the cold wasn’t what made me shiver.

  Something felt… wrong.

  A strange sensation crawled over my skin, raising the fine hairs on my arms beneath my sleeves. The same feeling I used to get walking through the monastery halls at night when the candlelight flickered just wrong. Like something unseen had shifted.

  Like someone was watching me.

  I turned my head instinctively, my gaze catching on the glass storefront across the street. The reflection of the streetlights made the window glow faintly, distorted by the frost clinging to its edges.

  And then—I saw it.

  A dark figure stood just beyond the reach of the streetlamp’s glow, barely more than a silhouette. It was too far to make out the details, but the shape was distinct—tall, draped in a heavy cloak, a top hat perched atop its head.

  I froze.

  A sharp, sinking dread coiled in my stomach, cold in a way that had nothing to do with the winter air.

  The figure wasn’t moving.

  It wasn’t walking down the street. It wasn’t shifting toward a car or a building.

  It was standing there.

  Watching.

  I swallowed hard, my fingers flexing around the strap of my bag. My pulse thundered in my ears, and I forced myself to breathe, to think. The street was empty—there was no one else around, no reason for someone to just stand there.

  I blinked and turned my head slightly, looking away from the window for half a second before snapping my gaze back.

  It was gone.

  The space beneath the streetlamp was empty. No footprints in the snow. No shadow lingering in the frost-lined glass.

  My breath hitched.

  Had I imagined it?

  The feeling of being watched didn’t fade. If anything, it clung tighter, making my spine itch. The cold suddenly felt deeper, pressing into my skin like ice water seeping through my clothes.

  "Ms. Raine," Staroko’s voice cut through the silence, low but firm interrupting my thoughts. I turned quickly, realizing I had stopped walking. He was already standing by the open back door of the Tahoe, waiting. He studied me for a beat, but whatever he saw in my face, he didn’t comment on.

  Zaraki, already seated in the front passenger seat, hadn’t looked back at all.

  I exhaled slowly, pushing down the unease clawing at my ribs. Maybe I was just exhausted. Maybe the last twenty-four hours had warped my senses, made me see things in the shadows that weren’t really there.

  Or maybe they were.

  I didn’t want to think about it.

  Stepping forward, I climbed into the back seat of the Tahoe. The door shut beside me with a solid thud, sealing me inside.

  Mr. Staroko slid into the driver’s seat, starting the car with a smooth turn of the key.

  As the vehicle rolled away from the curb, I didn’t turn back toward the window.

  I didn’t want to know if something was still standing there, watching.

  This was real now.

  I watched the sheriff’s department shrink in the side mirror.

  The last place I had a choice.

  I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling the quiet hum of the road beneath us, my heartbeat too loud in my ears.

  For the first time since the attack, I had no idea where I was going.

  Outside the window, the darkened landscape blurred past, broken only by the occasional glow of a streetlamp casting fleeting shadows across the snow-covered ground.

  I kept my gaze forward, but my thoughts churned beneath the surface.

  The shadowy figure.

  The feeling of being watched.

  The cold dread that had settled in my bones the moment I saw it.

  I forced myself to breathe slowly, pressing my fingers into the fabric of my hoodie. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. Or maybe it wasn’t.

  The silence stretched, and for several minutes, I said nothing. I tried to convince myself that keeping quiet was the safest option, that asking questions wouldn’t change the fact that I was already in this car, heading to somewhere I didn’t know with people I barely understood.

  But the weight of my own uncertainty pressed against my ribs, tighter with every second that passed.

  Finally, I broke.

  "How did you know to find me?" My voice came out quieter than I intended, but it cut through the stillness like a blade.

  Neither man reacted immediately. Mr. Staroko’s focus remained on the road, his hands steady on the wheel as the Tahoe cruised along the winding highway. Dr. Zaraki didn’t shift from his relaxed posture in the passenger seat, but I knew he had heard me.

  I swallowed, pressing forward. "Father Reynaud told me you were dangerous. Why?"

  Silence.

  I clenched my hands together in my lap, feeling my pulse tick beneath my skin. "Where are we going?"

  Still nothing.

  My chest tightened. "Who exactly are you?"

  Dr. Zaraki finally turned his head slightly, glancing back at me. His expression didn’t change. His gaze remained calm, assessing, like he was waiting to see how much I would push.

  I pressed on. "Who was Father Reynaud, really?"

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  My voice wavered at the last word, and I hated that it did.

  Dr. Zaraki exhaled softly, but he didn’t answer.

  Frustration coiled in my stomach, but it wasn’t sharp. It was dull, tired. The last twenty-four hours had stripped me of anything sharp. I felt worn down, my thoughts frayed at the edges. I just wanted something to make sense.

  I tried again. "Why did he adopt me?"

  Another beat of silence.

  "Why didn’t he tell me?"

  Nothing.

  "Why did he choose you as my godfather, and what makes you so special?"

  That question hung in the air longer than the others.

  Dr. Zaraki didn’t move for a moment. Then, slowly, he turned his gaze back to the road. "I will answer all of your questions," he said finally. "In time."

  The words settled between us, heavier than they should have been.

  I wanted to push. Wanted to demand more.

  But I didn’t.

  Because I already knew what the answer would be.

  The road stretched ahead, long and winding, disappearing into the dark expanse of the mountains. The headlights carved a narrow path through the night, illuminating the thick blanket of snow that coated the roadside. Beyond that, the trees stood tall and unmoving, their bare branches etched against the black sky like skeletal fingers reaching for something unseen.

  The grumble of the engine filled the silence between us, steady and unbroken. Inside the Tahoe, the warmth from the heater pressed against my skin, but it didn’t sink deep enough to chase away the cold that had settled inside me.

  I shifted in my seat, adjusting my grip on the strap of my bag, though I had no reason to hold onto it so tightly. Maybe it was habit. Maybe it was the only thing I still felt in control of.

  I wasn’t sure how much time had passed since I had spoken last, but neither Zaraki nor Staroko had made any effort to fill the silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable, not exactly, but it wasn’t easy either. It was the kind of quiet that made you feel like you were standing on the edge of something unknown.

  Snow flurries drifted lazily through the air, catching in the glow of the headlights before vanishing into the darkness. The road signs came and went, green reflective lettering marking places I had never been and names I didn’t recognize. The further we drove, the more the town behind us faded into nothing but a distant glow against the horizon.

  An hour must have passed. Maybe more.

  I finally noticed the sign as we sped past it.

  Welcome to Durango, Colorado.

  I blinked, my grip on my bag tightening. I hadn’t even realized we were leaving Silverton. I had been too lost in my own thoughts, too tangled in the weight of everything I didn’t understand.

  The SUV slowed as Mr. Staroko took the next exit, following the curve of the road as it led away from the main highway. The landscape shifted, the streetlights becoming less frequent, the road darker, quieter. I pressed my fingers against the window, watching the world blur past in streaks of white and black.

  The road changed beneath the tires, the smooth pavement giving way to something rougher, more controlled. It wasn’t until the glow of runway lights appeared in the distance that I realized where we were headed.

  I straightened slightly in my seat, my heartbeat picking up just enough to be noticeable.

  An airport.

  I turned my head toward Zaraki, but he hadn’t moved. Hadn’t reacted. If he noticed my sudden awareness, he gave no indication of it.

  I swallowed, shifting again, my gaze flicking between the illuminated path ahead and the faint outlines of hangars in the distance.

  I had never been on a plane before.

  I had never needed to be.

  But something about this—the way Mr. Staroko had driven with such purpose—made my stomach turn.

  I had no idea where they were taking me.

  I had no idea what waited for me beyond this moment.

  The SUV rolled to a stop, the crunch of the tires shifting as the pavement gave way to the compacted tarmac of an airstrip. The headlights cast long shadows across the deserted runway, illuminating the sleek, white corporate jet parked near a hangar.

  I barely registered the movement when Mr. Staroko shifted into park, his posture still composed, still unreadable. The engine cut off with a soft click, and then there was only silence—the kind that came with wide, open spaces and the knowledge that the rest of the world was still asleep.

  The glow of the runway lights bounced off the sharp, angular emblem on the tail of the jet. A diamond shape, divided by thin black lines, gave it a structured, deliberate design. In the center, three bold letters stood out against the pristine white of the aircraft—S.A.F. Below them, the words SkyTeam Aerospace Foundation stretched outward, the lettering shadowed, almost floating against the metallic surface.

  I stared at it, the symmetry of the design unfamiliar but precise, like it belonged to something important. Something structured.

  The name tugged at the edge of my memory. Mr. Staroko had mentioned it in the interrogation room when he and Dr. Zaraki arrived. Was this their jet? Did they work for this company? It made my mind spin even more.

  Something about the sheer presence of the jet made my chest feel tight. It wasn’t just that it was massive—larger than I expected—but the way the paint gleamed beneath the cold white lights, the way it looked too perfect, too precise, too clean. This wasn’t a plane meant for just anyone.

  This was for people who mattered.

  And somehow, I was stepping onto it.

  I swallowed against the weight pressing against my ribs. I had never flown before. Never even been near a plane like this. The idea of flying was something distant, something that belonged to books or news reports or the stories travelers sometimes told when they passed through the monastery.

  Now, it was real.

  The driver’s door clicked open. Mr. Staroko stepped out first, moving around the front of the vehicle. Dr. Zaraki exited without a word, moving with purpose and confidence—like he had already been here before, like he had already planned for every step.

  I hesitated before following, gripping the strap of my bag as I stepped into the freezing night air.

  The cold hit harder here. The wind cut through my sleeves, sharp enough to burn, the open airstrip offering nothing in the way of shelter. My feet sank into the snow-dusted pavement, each step quiet, measured.

  Then, movement at the top of the jet’s stairs.

  I froze mid-step.

  Dr. Volkova.

  She stood just inside the open hatch, framed by the soft glow spilling from the cabin behind her. She was dressed as perfectly as she had been before—her coat fastened neatly, her pale blonde hair still in that immaculate, precise style—but something in her expression shifted when she saw me.

  She had been waiting.

  The realization hit before I could stop it, before I could piece together what it meant.

  Dr. Volkova was here.

  My mind raced for an explanation, but I found none. And in that moment, none of it mattered.

  Because the second I saw her, relief hit me so fast it nearly knocked the air from my lungs.

  I didn’t care why she was here. I didn’t care that I still had too many unanswered questions, too many reasons to feel uneasy. I just knew that she wasn’t Mr. Staroko. She wasn’t Dr. Zaraki.

  She was someone familiar.

  Someone who had been there in the hospital, when everything still made a little more sense.

  My grip on my bag loosened. My shoulders sagged just slightly, the tension I hadn’t realized I was holding finally easing—not gone, but less suffocating.

  Dr. Volkova inclined her head slightly, watching me. Waiting.

  For the first time since leaving the monastery, I moved without hesitating.

  The steps felt steeper than they looked, each one carrying me further away from everything I had ever known. My shoes were silent against the polished metal, the cold still biting at my skin even as the warmth of the cabin spilled into the night behind Dr. Volkova.

  The inside of the jet was nothing like I expected.

  Everything was pristine, sleek, and deliberate. Plush leather seats lined the main cabin, arranged in a way that seemed meant for comfort and function, not just luxury. The lighting was soft, casting a warm glow over polished wooden accents and inset screens.

  This wasn’t just a plane.

  It felt like a command center.

  For who?

  The thought barely formed before I felt movement beside me. Dr. Volkova stepped slightly to the side, gesturing to the seat beside her. I hesitated, my hands tightening into fists, my legs still tense from the cold.

  And then, before I could overthink it, I moved toward her.

  It wasn’t a conscious decision. It wasn’t logical. But something about her presence felt like an anchor.

  I lowered myself into the seat, gripping the edge of the armrests before I let my bag slip from my shoulder. My fingers brushed over the smooth leather, the unfamiliar luxury almost unsettling against my skin.

  Dr. Volkova settled beside me, crossing her legs at the knee with the same quiet composure she always carried.

  I turned slightly, voice quieter than I intended. "You knew who Dr. Zaraki was the whole time?"

  She didn’t hesitate. She simply nodded.

  I swallowed, shifting slightly. "…I’ve never flown before."

  Dr. Volkova’s expression softened just slightly, the sharp edges of her presence smoothing. "It’s nothing to fear," she said, voice gentle but unwavering. "Just another step in the journey."

  Another step.

  That was all this was, wasn’t it?

  I let out a slow breath, my fingers flexing against the armrest. The engines growled around us, the sound steady, unshaken.

  A few rows ahead, Dr. Zaraki had settled into a chair near the back of the cabin, watching the main space with that same quiet calculation he seemed to carry. Mr. Staroko was already at the front, speaking quietly to the flight crew.

  I had no idea where we were going.

  I had no idea what came next.

  The jet began to taxi down the runway.

  The moment the wheels lifted off the ground, the weight in my stomach dropped.

  The sensation was immediate—an abrupt, hollow feeling as gravity shifted, the world falling away beneath me.

  I gripped the armrest tightly, my breath hitching slightly as the nose of the plane tilted upward, the runway lights shrinking below us. The sheer power of the ascent rattled through my ribs, a feeling unlike anything I had ever known.

  I was flying.

  The thought settled over me like a second skin, familiar and foreign all at once.

  As the jet climbed higher, cutting through the clouds, I forced myself to breathe.

  Another step.

  That was all this was.

  The whine of the jet had become a part of the silence, steady and low, pressing into the cabin like an unspoken presence. I kept my eyes on the window, watching the world shrink below, but there was no comfort in it—only the stark reality that I was leaving everything behind.

  But for what?

  The weight of the past day sat heavily on my shoulders, pressing into my ribs, curling into the spaces between my thoughts. The monastery was gone. Father Reynaud was dead. And now, I was here—on a private jet, surrounded by people who knew things I didn’t. People who spoke in pieces, in half-truths and omissions, always skirting around the edges of something bigger.

  I needed answers.

  "I understand that you have a lot of questions."

  Mr. Staroko’s voice cut through the quiet, smooth but firm, breaking the silence as if it had been waiting to shatter. He didn’t look at me right away, his focus still ahead, but there was an undeniable weight to his words. "This would be a good time to discuss them."

  I shifted in my seat, turning to glance at Dr. Zaraki, but he remained as he was—calm, composed, as if this entire situation had already played out in his mind before I had even stepped foot on this plane.

  My fingers tightened over the armrest, tension curling at the base of my skull. I was too exhausted to hesitate. "How did you know to find me?"

  Dr. Volkova, seated beside me, answered without pause.

  "I called him."

  The words were simple, almost dismissive, but they made my stomach tighten. It wasn’t fate. It wasn’t coincidence. It was planned.

  Somehow, that felt worse.

  I turned my attention fully to Dr. Zaraki now, my pulse picking up just slightly. "Father Reynaud told me you were dangerous. Why?"

  For the first time, Dr. Zaraki moved. It was slight, a barely perceptible shift as he leaned back, fingers lacing together in his lap. His gaze met mine, calm and unreadable.

  "I have history with the Catholic Church," he said simply. There was a pause before he added, almost as an afterthought, "They are correct. I am dangerous."

  A heartbeat.

  "But only to those who deserve it."

  A chill traced the length of my spine. There was no attempt at reassurance in his words, no effort to soften the weight of them. He said it as though it were a fact, something unchanging, absolute.

  I swallowed, glancing toward Staroko as I forced another question forward. "Where are we going?"

  Zaraki answered before Mr. Staroko could. "My home."

  That was it. No elaboration. No explanation. Just those two words, said with the kind of certainty that made my skin prickle.

  Something in me resisted the vagueness, the way every answer seemed designed to give me just enough to make me stop asking. I wouldn’t stop. Not now.

  "Who exactly are you?"

  Dr. Zaraki’s expression didn’t change, but I saw something shift in his eyes—a flicker of amusement, perhaps, or something more measured. Instead of answering, he countered, "What did Father Reynaud tell you?"

  I hesitated, exhaling slowly. The words felt heavier now than when I had first heard them. "He said you are the embodiment of death."

  The corner of Zaraki’s mouth twitched, just barely. It wasn’t a smirk, not really—just a knowing curve of his lips, a quiet acknowledgment.

  "That is an accurate description," he admitted.

  That was all.

  He didn’t explain. Didn’t deny it. Just let those words sit there, pressing into the air between us like something tangible.

  The unease I had been keeping at bay began to crawl deeper beneath my skin.

  I turned back to Mr. Staroko, my voice quieter now. "Who was Father Reynaud, really?"

  There was a pause before Mr. Staroko spoke. He didn’t usually hesitate, didn’t often allow himself to reveal anything beyond control, but in that moment, I saw it. The slightest shift, the faintest crack in his composure.

  "An old friend," he said finally. "A man who had seen and done things no ordinary priest would do." His voice was quieter now, carrying something heavier than before. "He had hidden talents—ones that are rare in today’s world."

  There was something more beneath his words. Something personal.

  I had lost Father Reynaud.

  He had lost a friend.

  The weight in my chest grew heavier, pressing against my ribs. My voice was barely above a whisper. "Why did he adopt me?"

  Dr. Zaraki’s voice was softer when he answered. "I believe it was for multiple reasons. I believe he loved you, Erika. He wanted to protect you. To know, in the end, that you had a family."

  The words hit harder than I expected.

  Father Reynaud had loved me. He had wanted me to have a family. But if that was true, then why had he kept so much from me?

  I swallowed against the ache creeping up my throat. "Then why didn’t he tell me?"

  Zaraki exhaled, his gaze unreadable. "I can’t answer that, unfortunately. But I suspect it had to do with who and what you are… on top of not wanting the other orphans to feel unimportant."

  Who and what you are.

  The words clung to me, cold and suffocating.

  I shifted, shaking my head slightly. "Why did he choose you as my godfather?"

  Dr. Zaraki didn’t even blink. "Because if there was one person Father Reynaud knew could protect you, it was me."

  Something about the finality of his tone made my breath hitch.

  I turned to Dr. Volkova. "What makes him so special?"

  She answered before Dr. Zaraki could, her gaze sharp and unwavering. "There are things that go bump in the night, Erika," she said, voice even, matter-of-fact.

  She held my gaze, her tone steady, absolute.

  "Then there is Dr. Zaraki."

  A pause.

  "He is their boogeyman."

  The air felt colder.

  "The one person even they fear."

  I glanced at Dr. Zaraki. He didn’t deny it. He just smiled.

  The roar of the jet settled into the silence, a steady, rhythmic presence beneath the weight of everything left unsaid. It did nothing to chase away the cold pressing into my skin. I kept my hands clenched around the armrests, trying to ground myself, but my thoughts wouldn’t stop circling, wouldn’t stop pulling at the edges of things I didn’t understand.

  I needed more answers.

  I forced my voice through the pressure in my chest. "Dr. Volkova… did you believe me? About the monastery?"

  She didn’t hesitate. "Yes. I believed you."

  Relief cracked through the unease, fragile but real. Finally, someone who didn’t look at me like I was crazy. I hadn’t imagined it. I hadn’t been wrong. The things I had seen, the horrors that had ripped through the monastery—they were real.

  "But that is because," Dr. Volkova continued, her voice measured, unwavering, "everyone on this jet would be considered a monster in the eyes of humanity."

  The relief vanished.

  The words barely registered at first, sinking in slowly, creeping past my ribs like ice spreading through my veins. I stared at her, unsure if I had misheard, if she had meant something else, but her expression remained unchanged.

  She lifted a hand, gesturing toward Dr. Zaraki first. "Dr. Zaraki is not human." Her fingers moved to Mr. Staroko next, her voice calm, certain. "Staroko is not human." Then, with a subtle glance toward the cockpit, she continued. "Even the men flying this jet are not human." Then she pointed at herself. “I am not human.”

  The cabin around me tilted.

  I felt the shift before I fully understood it, the weight of the truth pressing in before my mind could catch up. Not human.

  My breath hitched.

  I looked at them again, really looked at them. Dr. Zaraki, still unreadable, watching with that same quiet expectation. Mr. Staroko, composed, not reacting as if this was any different than discussing the weather. Dr. Volkova, unwavering, as if this conversation had been inevitable.

  It had been.

  The weight of it crashed into me, thick and suffocating, because I wasn’t just surrounded by something I didn’t understand.

  I was sitting among them.

  Dr. Zaraki’s voice cut through the moment, final and unshaken.

  "That includes you, Erika."

  My lungs locked.

  The sound of the jet faded, drowned out beneath the sharp, deafening rush of my own pulse. My grip tightened, fingernails pressing into the leather, but there was no solid ground beneath me anymore.

  I wasn’t human.

  The suspicion had been there, lingering at the edges of my mind, in the quiet moments when I caught glimpses of myself in the monastery’s old mirrors and felt like something didn’t fit. The way the monks spoke around me, the way their gazes always seemed to carry something unspoken. The way Father Reynaud had trained me, prepared me for a world no one else in that monastery had even been allowed to see.

  This was why.

  I wasn’t just different.

  I had never belonged to the world I thought I had.

  I turned toward them, searching their faces, looking for some kind of denial, some indication that this was a mistake. But there was nothing. Mr. Staroko was still unreadable, Dr. Volkova’s expression remained steady, and Dr. Zaraki—

  Dr. Zaraki smirked.

  They had known.

  They had always known.

  And now, so did I.