“I can sense the sin of man—their darkest, innermost thoughts,” he repeated in a tone that suggested he didn’t think I had two working brain cells to rub together. His gaze flicked up to the body behind me, and I mentally cursed the Throne for forgetting to fill me in on this new talent of his. “He didn’t just have thoughts about children. He had memories of what he’d done.”

I put two and two together and ended up with the taste of bile in my throat. I didn’t know if it was right or wrong to feel a little bit of relief to know that the man had not been a good dude. Murder was bad and all, but if what Zayne claimed was true, I couldn’t really feel all that bad for him. I just didn’t know what that meant for Zayne.

Or for me.

But whatever.

“You’re making a bad decision,” Zayne said, jolting me out of my thoughts. He was watching me, but he wasn’t speaking to me.

What was Dez doing?

“I’m feeling overly generous right now,” Zayne said. “But take one more step and it will be the last step you take.”

Did he have eyes in the back of his head? I had no idea, but the cold threat carried the weight of truth. It was clear that it was his last warning.

Staring at him, I tried to reconcile the fact that even with the flatness of his tone and the predatory gleam in his eyes, it looked like Zayne. Yes, there were things that were different. The glow and the wings. But I couldn’t process how changed he was. How could his Fall erase everything? Was the Glory—his soul—that powerful? Were there any memories of his life in him or just vague sensations associated with a consciousness he was no longer connected to? Was that why I felt familiar to him, but he didn’t know why? Or care? Or was the reason why he killed the Ghoul, why he hadn’t snapped my neck, because that consciousness still drove him on some primal, basic level he couldn’t understand? Was it too late?

“Are you even still in there?” I whispered.

There was a flicker of emotion that tightened the skin around his eyes and mouth. Confusion? I thought so. It reminded me of how he’d stared at me when I’d touched his cheek instead of striking him.

If he was truly lost, he wouldn’t feel confusion now. At least, that’s what I thought—what I had to think. “Do you still feel too much?” I asked, remembering what he and the Throne had said about his Fall. “Do you know what you were before tonight? Who you were?”

He said nothing.