FOR A COUPLE OF SECONDS Dylan and I stood there awkwardly. The night seemed darker and quieter than it had a moment ago. I could smell Dylan’s clean scent, like soap and mountain air.

“I thought flying would come naturally to me,” he said. He carefully opened his wings and frowned, as if testing their strength.

“Well, it’s like walking, or riding a bike,” I explained. “It’s sort of natural, but you also have to practice.”

I remembered Ari, Jeb’s son. He’d been a little sevenyear-old. Then someone had spliced his DNA with Eraser genes and grafted wings onto him, retrofitting them. The result had been a huge disaster, a Frankenstein.

It looked like they had finally gotten everything right with Dylan. No one could accuse him of being a Frankenstein. More like Frankenhunk.

I realized what I was thinking and immediately shooed it out of my head. “So, I, uh … ,” I started babbling. “I guess you flew here … from Africa?” I asked. “Like, in a plane?”

“Yeah. What about you guys?”

“We flew flew here. Took about five days. We were pretty whipped afterward. That Atlantic Ocean is a beast.”

“That’s so amazing.” He gazed at me in open admiration. “I can’t believe how strong you are.”

The dream I’d had about Dylan popped into my head in full Technicolor. “Was it hard for you to get used to being big?” I asked, wanting to change the subject. Chitchat is obviously not my best skill. “I mean, I guess you grew pretty quickly.”

He shook his head. “I’ve always been this size. I don’t remember anything else. They … made me this way.” He hesitated for a moment. “I don’t remember being a little kid. I’ve only been alive for eight months, but it’s been long enough to realize that I’m a … freak.” He gave a sad little chuckle.

“Well, yeah,” I said, not pulling any punches. “So are we. But you’ve got to remember that you didn’t make yourself this way. We didn’t ask for this to be done to us. Other people did. They knew better, knew they were treating us like lab rats, and they did it anyway. They’re the monsters, not us.”

“Are you angry about it still?” He looked curious. It was an odd feeling to have anyone — especially a guy — ask me about my emotions.

“Well, I don’t know. Mostly I just suck up what life throws my way, stomp on it, and then keep going. I don’t dwell much on what I am or how I got this way. It just is. I just am. I’m Max, and whatever form I take, it’s good enough for me.”

He smiled. Were those whitening-strip-bright teeth I saw flash between his lips? “It’s good enough for me too.”