We stared at each other for what felt like hours. It was likely just seconds. I saw no familiarity in the face that I knew so well and cared for so much. Just the icy glare of someone foreign and evil. A murderer controlling Gage’s body. It was my fault, and I found no comfort in the fact that he had no weapons, or that Gage’s powers couldn’t hurt me.
“Speechless?” he asked.
I swallowed. “Who are you?”
“Who I’ve always been.”
“You’re not Specter.”
“In a way, I am. Specter was the name given to a man who once wielded the powers I possess.”
“Why?”
He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Why don’t we take a walk? I will better explain things to you.”
“No.”
His eyes narrowed. He pointed at Marco. “Shall I kill your friend there to prove my point? Or shall we just take a walk?”
He reached for Marco.
“Okay,” I said quickly.
He stopped, stood, and then offered me a hand. I ignored him and stood on my own. Dizziness nearly toppled me. I sucked in a deep breath, trying hard to focus.
“Watch your step, Trance. Don’t think I can’t hurt this boy. I can manipulate his senses until the stress puts him into a coma. Or perhaps open up his sight and look into the sun and blind him.”
My insides liquefied. My worst nightmare was standing in front of me. The only no-win situation I feared encountering. Our only proven methods of forcing Specter out of a body were unconsciousness or death. I couldn’t entertain those thoughts yet. Killing wasn’t an option. Knocking him out might be possible, but I needed to stay with him. At least until I figured out where his corporeal body was and how to trap him.
“I won’t fight you,” I said.
“Good girl. Now walk toward the Base.”
I did as he asked, not looking at the van as we passed side by side. If Ethan was listening, I prayed he kept silent and out of sight. The only way to end this was to play it out. Something about this wolf-in-Specter-clothing seemed familiar … the way he talked, the words he chose.
“I knew you’d be the most difficult,” he said casually. He could have been discussing a recipe. “I knew the first night, in the motel. Your powers are incredible, Trance, and quite fascinating. I had to know why you, too, had been gifted powers not your own.”
I almost stopped walking, but didn’t want to give him another excuse to threaten someone. He didn’t know why he had his powers, either. Or she? I had to get more information before he just hauled off and killed me.
“You think my powers were a deliberate gift?” I said, refusing to look at him.
“In a way, yes. Your powers were likely, as hypothesized, the last attempt of a dying woman to manipulate powers she’d been hoarding for fifteen years. Similar energy powers run in families, so the match to your grandmother’s power made sense. She tried to even the odds by giving you something she thought you could handle.”
A tremor ripped down my spine. Only eight people knew about Agent McNally’s theory on my powers. Oh God, who was he? Was it McNally herself? The notion he actually was Gage was there and gone instantly. Impossible.
Wasn’t it? McNally had warned me that the only person I could truly trust was myself.
No, I knew Gage, dammit. It wasn’t him. And it didn’t explain how this doppelganger came into possession of the Specter powers. Unless—hell. Unless Marcus Spence had family we didn’t know about.
We entered the Base. He pointed toward the elevator. It opened when I pressed the call button, and inside we went. This was too planned, too perfect. My brain roared on information overload. This couldn’t be happening.
We rode up silently and stopped on the third floor. He nudged me out and to the left. The gymnasium was this way and, sure enough, he pointed me toward those double doors. I inhaled sharply and pushed. Stale air greeted me, as did the sharp odor of blood. Three steps in, I stopped, unable to see in the dim light. Gage moved behind me and flipped a switch. Fluorescent light flooded the room.
I backed up, right into his chest, my lips parting.
The room was the size of half a basketball court, with high ceilings and mats rolled across half the hardwood floor. The wall opposite the door was a bank of windows, the wall to our left all mirrors and dance barres. Unused equipment—a trampoline, uneven bars, a vault—were still shoved in the left corner. My attention was drawn to the objects directly ahead and slightly to the right.
No, not objects. People.
In the near-center of the room was a balance beam. Renee was tied to it with colorful jump ropes, her arms and legs stretched and twisted into pretzel-like shapes, knotted around each other in ways even her flexible body was not meant to turn. Her eyes were open and fixed on the ceiling. Sweat dripped down her face and had pooled on the floor beneath the beam. She seemed past pain, past agony, square in the center of shock.
Dahlia lay on the floor below the beam, bound in a practice mat like a jelly roll, with only her head sticking out. Unconscious? Dead? She was too far away for me to tell. Dr. Seward and Agent McNally were likewise tied up with jump ropes—and drugged or concussed—on the floor near a second balance beam. Psystorm was swathed in karate uniforms, the colorful belts cinched around his legs, arms and torso creating a motley straitjacket. He was blindfolded by a black belt, his body carelessly dumped in the far right corner of the room. Only Caleb and the rest of the medical staff were missing from the waking nightmare. No, someone else was missing.
Fuck. Me.
Anger replaced horror, and the anger quickly melted into rage. These were my friends, tied up and tormented by a deranged federal agent who was blackmailing me with Gage’s body. As absurd as it sounded, I’d walked willingly into a no-win situation and needed a miracle to get back out again.
It took every ounce of self-control to not charge across the room and release my friends, consequences be damned. Instead, I pivoted and faced the doppelganger.
“So what are you going to tie me up with, Alex?” I asked. “Fuzzy handcuffs?”
Not-Gage blinked. His slow grin gave me the chills. “You think I’m Agent Grayson?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Telling you would ruin the surprise. How do you know I haven’t been Cipher this whole time?”
“Because I know him.”
“Yes, you do, and quite intimately.”
I glared, but kept my mouth shut.
“Cipher’s trying very hard to wake up, Trance. He’s fighting for you. He may even be in love with you.”
“Fuck off.”
He quirked an eyebrow and crinkled his nose. It created an absurd expression on Gage’s face. “I haven’t seen this vulgar side of you before. I am certain, however, if I’d gone into anyone else’s body, you’d have blasted me by now without regard for that person’s life.”
Seen that side of you before. He was playing now. I couldn’t let him bait me and reel in the line. I would have killed anyone else if I had to in order to save more lives, only I would have cared. I would have cared a lot. Not Gage, though, not when we’d come so far. I couldn’t lose him by my own hands. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I?”
Instead of giving him the satisfaction, I changed the subject. “What the hell are we doing here?”
“Finishing this, Trance. We’ve been dancing around each other for the better part of a week, and I’m exhausted. You’ve worn me out.”
“So end it already and stop fucking around.” My left hand burned, itching to create and unleash an orb. To release the pent-up fury flickering just beneath the surface. I swept my hand out, indicating the room’s five prisoners. “You could have killed them all before I got back, and then pounced. Why the show?”
“I need an alibi.”
My lips parted. He watched me, curious, studying my reaction. I couldn’t seem to move, think. Utter a sound. He had the upper hand completely, and all I had was the very real urge to curl into a ball and scream.
“You’re thinking now,” doppelganger-Gage said. “Wondering. Who do you think I am, Trance? Still think I’m Agent Grayson? Or is he stuffed in the trunk of the car you crashed into, slowly suffocating to death?”
“Funny you should say that. But I’m also damned. I have been since the moment I was cursed with these powers, “he said with a weary sigh. “I’ve been in all of their heads, you know. Your friends. A little gas in the vents to loosen them up and make them sleepy. Then a walk down here to tie themselves up. I know what they think of you. Want to know?”
“Have I said ‘fuck off’ yet?”
He strolled past me, my hostility rolling off him like water off a duck, gazed at his prisoners, hands folded behind his back, pleased with himself. I kept even with him, allowing only a few feet of distance between us, and froze when he stopped halfway to the balance beam.
“Did you know Flex still blames you for Caliber’s death?” he said. “She hates that Gage is alive and William is dead. Deep down she thinks you let him die. That you left him behind. Of course, you and I both know the truth—”
I hit him hard with a closed fist, awkward with my left hand. The blow glanced off his chin and did little more than piss him off. He threw a jab I couldn’t avoid. It smashed into the blood knot on my chin and splattered crimson all over his shirt. I fell to my knees, blinded by the fiery agony in my face. Blood drizzled down my neck. The world tilted.
“Don’t do that,” he said. “I don’t want to kill you yet, but I will keep you docile.”
Docile? I struggled to breathe, to maintain some sense of composure, when all I wanted to do was collapse. Giving up would hurt less. Forcing him to kill me would end this sick game. Tears dribbled down my cheeks, and through them, I saw clearly—my friends tied up like animals, used as bait, and my lover lording over it all, controlled by a madman. If I gave up, I doomed them all to death, and if hell existed, I would burn for it.
If I gave up, the future of the Rangers died with me.
“Why?” I said, practically spitting the word.
“Why what?”
“Why are you really doing this?” I lifted my head. Another tear squeezed from the corner of my eye and joined the river of liquid already staining my chin and throat. “Why are you killing us off? Why did you kill those Metas and destroy the Warden?”
He sucked in his lower lip, a very Gage-like gesture. He seemed to war between his own desire to gloat and some need to keep it secret. Knowledge made him feel superior, gave him an edge. I needed to turn that edge against his throat and press.
“You weren’t a Bane before,” I said, pushing a little harder. “You probably aren’t a Meta at all, just some nobody who thinks mass murder makes them somebody.”
He scowled. “You know less than you think.”
I hauled my weary body up, ignoring the throbbing in my face. Intent on him. “Once we’re all dead, then what? The Banes get turned loose to wreak havoc on the world? Is that what you want?”
His scowl softened into surprise. “You didn’t know about the MHC’s fail-safe protocol, did you?”
I shook my head, wary of his tricks.
“Of course you wouldn’t. It’s something they designed thirty years ago, Trance. I’m surprised no one ever mentioned it. Especially McNally, since you two seem very chummy. Of course, this isn’t the first time she’s withheld information under the guise of your best interests. I suppose she didn’t want some sort of Ranger riot on her hands when you actively hated the idea.”
“What idea?” I snapped, tired of his pontificating.
“Mass murder. Did you know they have been systematically piping a depressant into the island’s water supply for the last ten years? And they’ve recently increased the dosage, making it so strong some people are getting sick. I suspected as much for years, but Psystorm verified it when he spoke to you about Caleb’s mother.”
Gage hadn’t been in the room during the conversation about the prison’s water supply. Neither had Grayson, for that matter. I looked at the bodies tied up on the floor. What was out of place?
He continued: “The MHC had something else prepared, Trance, completely unknown to their superiors at the ATF. A fail-safe protocol to eradicate the Banes, to be used only in the event that your powers returned, and all active and capable Rangers were killed in action. It was meant to protect regular human beings from the Bane threat. To destroy the most dangerous weapons in the world in one fell swoop.”
Psystorm. The little black box.
“The collars,” I said.
He nodded.
Bile surged into my mouth. I swallowed hard. That’s what this was about: genocide. Destroying everyone with powers. “It won’t work,” I said, unable to keep my voice steady. “You know it won’t, don’t you? I mean, you could have killed all twelve of us right away, and then what? Look at Ember. The Banes have children on the island who are uncollared and powered.”
“I admit, Caleb and Ember were unexpected, but I had to see this through.” He looked at me with weary eyes. “Perhaps this time it will be better.”
This time. My guts twisted. “So all the old Rangers and Banes die. Rangers at Specter’s hand, the Banes at the push of the government’s button, and then all is well? What gives you the right?”
“Have you ever been away from home for so long you’ve lost yourself and everything you know? Of course you have. You lost your powers for fifteen years, and you spent the time wallowing in a life not yours. Trying to fit into a world that didn’t want you. So did Cipher. I can feel his disgust with the way things were. Being normal and how it nearly destroyed him. They stole your identity and your life. If given the chance, wouldn’t you have done anything to be here today? To be what you were always meant to be?”
“Yes.” I said it before I thought better. It was the truth. I despised those feelings of alienation, of knowing I wasn’t meant to be a regular girl. I went to extremes in my personal life to find something to fill the aching void in my heart. And now someone decided my life and my pain was on the sacrificial altar? Hell, no. I’d fought too long and hard to carve out the life I had. It was not his to take away. We’d all worked too damned hard.
A frustrated scream lodged in my throat. “So what happens now? You’ve told me your dastardly plan. You’re holding my boyfriend’s body hostage, and my friends are all tied up. You’re either going to kill me now, or make me watch you kill my friends first. Why keep stalling?”
“I like this body, so young and vibrant, and so in love. I wish you could feel it for yourself.”
“Why don’t you memorize it?” I said, dripping with sweet sarcasm. “Then go back to your real body and jerk off for a while. Maybe you’ll feel a little bit less like a murderous psychopath. Or do you like jumping into the body of a healthy, thirty-year-old because you can’t get it up for a woman in real life?”
I saw the blow coming and ducked. His fist sailed over my shoulder, putting him off balance. I brought my knee up into his stomach, hard, right into Gage’s existing bruise. He doubled over and hit the floor. I drove my left elbow into the center of his back. He grunted, dropping like a stone. I turned and lobbed a concentrated orb ten feet toward the center of the balance beam holding Flex hostage. It shattered. Ropes broke. She tumbled to the floor, shrieking as her tortured arms and legs retracted to their normal size.
Something caught my ankle and pulled. I couldn’t compensate and toppled forward, smashing my cast-covered arm into the floor. White-hot agony killed my screams. I couldn’t breathe. I waited for it. The last strike, be it from a gun or a blow to the head.
Nothing.
I rolled onto my back. The shrieking pain reduced itself to a dull roar and settled behind my temples. Still no killing blow. I sat up with some effort. My head spun in counterclockwise circles. I closed my eyes until it passed. The room came into focus. My heart pounded. The sight didn’t shock me like it should have—just created a sense of utter failure.
Doppelganger-Gage stood by the rear wall a few paces from the exit, out of immediate reach, watching me intently. He held a knife to his throat, just below his left ear. The blade pressed hard into the skin and had already drawn a thin line of blood. His expression warred with itself, wavering between frustration and anger.
“I’ll kill him, you know I will. Are you going to settle down?”
“No, I won’t.”
He blinked. “You won’t?”
“No.” Rage burned from my very core, tingling every nerve ending, blinding my other emotions. I was sick of being manipulated by this monster, and I was ending this one way or another. I just hoped Gage could forgive me. One day I might forgive myself.
“Not even if I kill one of your friends? Flex, perhaps? Or your new pal Psystorm? I know you’d hate to be responsible for making that sweet little boy of his an orphan.”
More fuel to the fire. My hands clenched. I saw purple, and this time, it wasn’t filter overload. Just rage. “You’d make him an orphan, you unforgivable bastard. You’re going to kill them all anyway, so nothing you do in this room is my fault. You made me kill for you three times too many. I killed Frost for you. I won’t kill for you again.” My left hand came up to shoulder height, and an orb the size of a grapefruit coalesced above my palm. “I won’t let you kill anyone else, either.”
His eyes narrowed. “I haven’t killed, Trance. There is no blood on my hands.”
“You set the fire that destroyed the Warden. You manipulated their deaths. You possessed people and put them in harm’s way. Their blood is on your hands as surely as if you’d stabbed them in the heart yourself. “
“Semantics, Trance, but if it’s literal blood on my hands you want …” He pulled the knife’s blade across Gage’s throat, from ear to Adam’s apple. Blood spurted. The yellow glow bled from his eyes as the doppelganger released him. Gage hit the floor hard.
Screams filled my ears as I bolted to his side. I pressed my left hand against the wound, trying to stanch the steady flow of blood. I couldn’t tell if he’d hit the artery. I didn’t want to know. I just held on.
“Dr. Seward,” I shouted. “Agent McNally, anyone! Please, wake up!”
Renee stirred. Not helpful. I couldn’t move without letting go, couldn’t use orbs to free the others without letting go. I just pressed down, Gage’s blood so hot against my skin it seemed to burn. I pressed and watched, expecting one of my friends to wake up suddenly, their eyes yellow and their body possessed. Any one of them could be the doppelganger.
“Hello?”
My hand jerked, startled by the voice. I held my breath, wondering if I’d imagined it. A few seconds later, the call repeated itself. I knew his voice—my number one suspect. Fear and hope collided. I had to bank on hope, for Gage’s sake.
“In here! Please, I’m here!”
Alexander Grayson burst into the room at a dead run. A short, frumpy man whom I disliked on principle, and here he was, saving my ass with dirt on his rumpled suit, a bruise on his cheekbone, and a distant look in his eyes. Eyes I instinctively studied—no yellow glow. Maybe he really had been stuffed in a trunk. But by whom? My entire list of suspects was tied up, injured or both.
“What the hell’s happening, Trance? The Medical Center is—” He surveyed the room. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his eyes seemed to grow impossibly wider when he saw me. Really saw me. “Holy Mother of—”
“Is the fire department here yet?” I asked.
“I don’t think they’re inside, no.” He took a few steps closer, his attention fixed on the slowly spreading pool of blood beneath Gage. “My God, what happened? I’d just parked my car when—”
“It’s Specter, really long story. Please, just put your hand here and hold pressure on Gage’s throat. We need to get the others loose and call an ambulance.”
Grayson took my place, his hand pressing down hard where mine had been a moment ago. Gage was pale, but breathing steadily. The blood loss horrified me. If God existed and liked me even a little bit—highly debatable—then the doppelganger had missed the artery and just done scary, reparable damage.
I skipped past my bound friends and ran to the wall of windows, lobbed an orb at the glass, and watched it shatter outward.
The roar of the nearby fire and scream of alarms became louder, and the acrid scent of smoke filtered inside. The open window presented me with a clear view of the decimated Medical Center, burning out of control. An empty scene of destruction. The loss of a hundred years of Meta history. Red lights twirled and spun on the other side of the main gate, which stood closed. Locked. Could I break it down from here? Probably not.
I bolted for the door.
“Trance?” Grayson asked.
“I need to get closer to the gate to let them—”
“Trance!”
“What?” I turned, annoyance turning to shock as a bullet struck Grayson in the center of his forehead. The sound of the shot followed, an echo my brain was too slow to catalogue. Blood, matter and bone sprayed on the wall. Grayson fell to the floor next to Gage, who was still slowly bleeding to death.
Fear rooted me. I didn’t dare look. My legs tingled. I had made a deadly tactical error.
“I truly hated that man. No need pretending anymore, Trance. Turn around.”
I did so, slowly. Insides twisting. Desperate for my eyes to find fault with what my ears heard. Dr. Angus Seward stood halfway across the room, a still-bound McNally at his feet, a revolver raised and pointed. Plain brown eyes gazed at me with keen interest from beneath bushy white eyebrows. As I watched him, his eyes began to glow yellow-orange. The glow lasted only a moment, before fading back to brown. A chill clawed its way from the top of my neck to the tips of my toes.
“Not quite what I had in mind,” Seward said. “Happy now? We both have the blood of others on our hands.”
The hard edge in his voice cut like an invisible blade. Warmth and compassion—two things I had always associated with Angus Seward—were gone. Erased. Replaced by cold calculation and tinged with anguish.
Fury continued to boil just beneath the surface, fueled by betrayal and loss. And foolishness. How had we been so blind? Not seen it? We were the perfect fools, about to die senseless, avoidable deaths. He had the upper hand now, just has he’d had it all week. Playing us like a guitar, knowing every chord to strum and sweet spot to pick.
“I knew it,” I said, even though I knew nothing.
He cocked his head. “Knew what, my dear?”
“That whoever was playing as Specter had a dick the size of a walnut.”
His warning shot hit the wall inches from my fractured right hand. I didn’t jump. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. It seemed to impress him.
“You know, Trance, I briefly considered trying to make a deal with you.”
“Oh?” My gaze flickered toward Gage. Time was not on my side here.
“You and I are unlike any other Metas, Trance. We received powers we were not born with, something never before seen in Meta history. Your transformation fascinated the scientist in me, as did my own. I shouldn’t have delayed your deaths, but I had to know more. I had to understand why.”
Little things started clicking into place. I felt sick. And used—well and truly used. Bastard. “You set the fire. You destroyed the Warden and released our powers.”
“Yes.”
“Why? The fail-safe?”
“Yes.”
“You did all this just to ensure the Banes were wiped out.”
“We’ve already discussed this.”
“No, we haven’t. Why do you hate them so much that you’d sacrifice so many lives just to see the Banes dead?”
His hand trembled, altering the aim of the gun. Several times his mouth opened and closed as thoughts started and never finished. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Fear.”
“Fear of what?”
“Of what would happen when the Warden failed and the powers came back. Fear of how twelve angry, mismatched young adults would handle six times their numbers in vengeful enemies. Fear that those lines of division the MHC created between Rangers and Banes would once again consume the world.”
While his fears weren’t unfounded, the logic wasn’t there. “How did you find out about the Warden?”
“That’s a long story.”
“Summarize it.”
He was stuck in that strange place between not wanting to justify his horrible actions, and wanting to finally tell someone and ease a hefty burden. I wasn’t there to absolve him of his sins, but I wanted to know why, dammit.
“You were wrong, Trance,” he finally said. “I was a Meta before all of this.”
I couldn’t have heard that right and stared at him, too stunned to say a word.
“Weren’t expecting that, I see.” His shoulders sagged a bit. “I had no idea. Not until we all lost our powers. Whatever mine were, they were so weak I never knew I had them until they were ripped away. The experience was exactly as you children described it.”
“How could no one know?” I managed to ask.
“I don’t honestly know the answer to that, and it’s possible there are more like me, who never knew they were Metas. It’s not as though being Meta is detectable in a blood test.”
Good point. But still!
“My mother’s family had no history of Meta powers, and I’d never known my own father. So I spent the next few years obsessed with finding him. With the country in so much turmoil, it was difficult to get the records I needed. My marriage suffered tremendously.
“I’d spent twenty years in service to the Rangers and MHC, and just when I thought I could retire and spend the rest of my life with my wife and our girls, I drew further away. And I was too scared to tell her why.”
The heartbreak in his words dug deep. I had to fight against their impact, to keep my anger up. I couldn’t feel sorry for him. It was a betrayal to my friends, both alive and dead. “Was your father a Meta?”
“Not just a Meta,” he said. “He was a Bane.”
“Holy shit.”
“Indeed. His name was Shade. I’d already worked five years for the MHC when he was killed, and in researching Shade I made a connection no one ever had before—officially, at least. I discovered Shade had a son. I had a half brother.”
Only one answer, horrifying as it was, made any kind of sense. “Specter.”
“Tragically, yes.” Even now, years after discovering the fact, he looked pissed. “My inevitable inquiries at the prison came to the attention of Agent Garth Anders.”
“McNally’s partner?”
“Correct. Anders knew almost since the end of the War that Marcus Spence wasn’t on the Island. The MHC found out too late and didn’t want a public panic, or to admit to missing a Bane. Anders was assigned to seek him out—off the record. When he found him, Spence had already had one stroke. Anders never considered a feeble, wheelchair-bound man to be a risk, so he didn’t tell anyone he found Spence.”
“Why did he tell you?”
“Well, at this point in the story, Anders had just been diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. We’d worked together years before. He may have been clearing his conscience.”
“Anders told you about the Warden?”
“Yes. He knew the Warden was a temporary fix. The technology would break down, or one of the Metas powering it would die. If that happened, then the fail-safe collars were the only thing that would protect us. I was inclined to agree. Our country was barely surviving the destruction of one Meta War. We’d never survive another.
“After Anders passed, I went to see Spence. I needed to look my half brother in the eye and see the monster who’d murdered so many. But he wasn’t Specter anymore. He was a wasted shell of a man, and part of me understood why Anders couldn’t turn him in.”
Just as I’d felt sorry for the broken old man I’d found at the Blue Tower. None of us was immune to pity, it seemed. “But why destroy the Warden?” I asked. “Why kill us?”
“Destroying the Warden was simply to help along the inevitable. I looked up you twelve, you know. You were all unsettled, disillusioned, unsuccessful in so many ways, and I believed you would never step up and be heroes. But killing you before you repowered would look suspicious and could be traced back to me.”
The clinical way he spoke about our intended murders compounded my hatred of the man I’d once considered a friend. “So you … what? Asked Spence to do it remotely after he got his Specter powers back?”
“I did. He agreed.”
“But he didn’t get them back.”
“No. The night of the Fairview fire, Spence suffered a third stroke. It left him catatonic, and I received his powers instead. I didn’t understand why until McNally postulated her family connection theory.”
Disgust bubbled up. It had all been some big improvisation from a man caught between personal vengeance and doing what he thought was best for the world. “So you left your brother to rot in his own filth, while you stuck to your plan to slaughter us?”
“Spence was a murderer a hundred times over.”
“Maybe, but no one deserves to die like that. You’re just one big, fat fucking fraud, aren’t you?”
He wilted just a little. “Yes, I suppose I am.”
“Would Annabelle have wanted this?” I asked, my voice quaking. “Would your wife and daughters still love you, knowing what you’ve done?” His daughters, who were potentially Meta, too—damn.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Annabelle divorced me four years ago and took the girls to Europe. It’s all for the best. I’m sorry, child.”
He took aim at my head and squeezed the trigger.