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Kylo shifted beside me and his muscles tensed beneath his shirt—a silent, protective presence. He was always there, as solid as the Brooklyn Bridge, but even he couldn't bridge the gap between us right now.
"More like a bad rerun," Kylo muttered, hands clasped in front of him like we were at a prayer meeting and not a conspiracy huddle.
Ansel cleared his throat, a sound that ricocheted around the room like a warning shot. "My father," he began, his tone grave, "was involved with... government projects. The kind that don't officially exist."
I arched a brow. "Sounds like every conspiracy theorist's wet dream. What, did he help fake the moon landing?"
"You could say that," Ansel’s eyes darkened. "He experimented on children. Tried to turn them into... weapons." His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked less like a tycoon and more like a survivor.
"Is that supposed to make me feel better or worse?" my heart pounded a little harder against my ribcage. The idea of kids being twisted into something monstrous—it hit too close to home.
"Ansel, you're not telling us you were one of the..." Kylo trailed off, his voice a notch above a whisper.
"Guinea pigs?" I supplied helpfully. "Lab rats?"
"Victims," Ansel corrected sharply, and suddenly, green smoke curled from his lips like it had before and dissipated into the sterile air. It was unsettlingly pretty, a magician's trick soaked in horror stories.
"Mind control," he explained, almost apologetically. "A byproduct of their... work on me. I can influence people, make them do things, but only for a short time. And only so many."
"Handy at parties," I joked, but bile rose in my throat. This wasn't a laughing matter. The thought of someone poking around in your head, making you dance to their tune—it made me want to shower in bleach.
"Ansel, why are you telling us this?" Kylo asked, his voice tight.
Ansel locked eyes with me, "Because you need to understand what we're up against. And maybe..." He hesitated, a rare crack in his armor. "Maybe because I need you to understand me."
"Understand you? I'm still working on tolerating you," I shot back, but my heart wasn't in it. Because for all my bravery, I felt it—the strange force that tied us together. The bitter irony that the man I'd dubbed Captain Planet might have more in common with me than I dared to admit.
"Welcome to the freak show," I murmured and ran a hand through my hair, the white strip standing out stark against the black.
"Membership comes with privileges," Ansel said, the ghost of a smile on his lips. But there was nothing funny about the haunted look in his eyes—the look of a man who'd been turned into a monster and hated every second of it.
"Great," I said, pushing back from the table. "Does it also come with a handbook? 'Cause I've got a few questions about the recent plot twists in my life."
"Oswin Yorke," Ansel continued, his voice steady but somber, "isn't just a shadow you've been chasing. He was... is a product of the same nightmares that haunt me. Like me, he was experimented on. The government made us into their weapons, Averill. Oswin's ability to time travel isn't natural—it was forged in labs, through pain and suffering."
"Forged, huh?" I said dryly. "Guess they skipped the assembly instructions with me." I couldn't help the quiver in my voice. Oswin's powers were a twisted mirror of my own. Was I a weapon too? Sharpened and then forgotten in a dusty armory?
"Your abilities are identical," Ansel pressed on and the glow from the lights cast an eerie light over his features. "That's no coincidence."
"Identical? So, what—you think Oswin's my long-lost twin brother or something?" I rolled my eyes, but inside, cogs turned. Connections were made. "This little family reunion just keeps getting better and better."
Ansel ignored my jab. "I believe Oswin is responsible for your mother's death. He's not just any assassin; he's the most deadly because he's mastered control. His power has evolved, Averill. He conjures murder weapons from the ink on his skin."
"Conjuring weapons?" My pulse quickened. "So his tattoos aren't just for show. Handy trick." It was too absurd, too fantastical, and yet there was an edge of horror to it that sliced through the sarcasm.
"Exactly. Look at your own arms, your own tattoos. They're reminders of your past deaths, aren't they? Symbols of your journey." Ansel's gaze drilled into me and urged me to see the connection.
"Reminders, yeah. But they don't pop off my skin and start slashing at people." I rubbed my inked arms absently. Oswin had control. Control I didn't have, control I never even knew was possible.
"Think! With your power, could you become an unstoppable force like him?"
"Unstoppable force?" I echoed and the words felt foreign on my tongue. "You make it sound like we're superheroes. I can barely manage to navigate my own timeline without tripping over my feet."
"Yet here you are, still standing, still fighting. And I'm offering to help you harness that strength," Ansel said solemnly.
"Help, huh?" I leaned back and crossed my arms, a barrier against the swell of possibilities threatened to drown me. "Let's just stick to taking down the bad guy before we jump into any hero capes.
"Fine," Kylo grunted and cast a dark glance in Ansel's direction. "I'll help her train."
