"It doesn't feel like it's passing."
"It will. Just give it time."
He cleaned my palms, my fingers, the spaces between. The water in the bowl turned pink, then red, then brown.
"Matt."
"Yeah?"
"Why do you do this?"
"Do what?"
"Take care of me. Clean up my messes. Pretend I'm not a monster."
"You're not a monster."
"I killed him."
"You killed a man who sold women. Who profited from their suffering. Who would have killed you if he'd had the chance."
"That doesn't make it right."
"No. But it doesn't make you a monster either."
He set the cloth aside and dried my hands with a towel.
"You're someone who's been through something terrible. Someone who's trying to survive. Someone who's trying to find answers. That's not monstrous. That's human."
"I don't feel human."
"You don't have to feel it. You just have to be it."
He made me tea.
Chamomile, with honey.
The same kind he always made.
I wrapped my hands around the mug and let the warmth seep into my bones. The shaking had slowed. The tears had stopped. The laughter had faded into something quieter, something that felt almost like peace.
"I remembered something."
"What?"
"A compound in Moscow. He said Gabriel might be there. A place where he went after the Institute fell."
"Do you believe him?"
"I don't know."
"Does it matter?"
"It's a lead. It's something to follow."
"And you're going to follow it."
"Yes."
