But I’m not helpless now. The virus burns so hot it turns the edge of my vision white. Angel robes, the white horse, one of the most dangerous parts of the flame.

Nick was supposed to get it. Out of everyone, he’s supposed to be the one who understands I’m not what the Angels made me. He’s supposed to be the one that gets it. And here he is, using a pronoun like it. It. Like I’m not even an animal, just an object, a hunk of flesh, a vessel for something else. The same things the Angels thought I was.

I hate that I can’t cry. I want to sob, I want to do something, anything, to get this pressure out of my head, this awful thing building behind my eyes, I hate it so much, and if I can’t tear Nick to pieces, I need to get it out.

“No, you listen to me.” My voice comes out in a terrible, pained rasp. “Listen to me. My name is Benjamin Woodside. I’m gay and trans as hell, I am a boy, my pronouns are he/him, and I am a goddamn person.” That is everything the Angels never let me have. Everything I am. “I joined the Watch because I thought you understood that. If I knew you were going to be like my fucking mom, I never would have stayed. I thought you were better than them!”

It feels like I’ve pulled out a thorn, yanked a spear out of my ribs, and now there’s an open wound I don’t know what to do with, just the relief that it’s out.

Nick’s eyes widen. His pupils are so dark, they’ve devoured every part of his eyes. The whites gleam in terror. Good. I hope he’s scared. I hope it hurts him as much as I hurt right now, as much as it hurts for Seraph to burn across my cheeks and sink its fangs into my jaw. I hope—

I hope…

Pap.

There’s a soft noise at my feet. So quiet I almost don’t hear it.

Pap.

I look down.

A black-red drop sits on the tile floor. Splattered from the impact.

Another falls from my chin and hits the ground. Pap. Soft but sharp on the tile.

Something hot and wet trickles down my cheek and gathers at the point of my jaw, where it soaks into my pulled-down mask before finally falling. Again. Pap.

I open my mouth—probably to say, What’s happening?— and half my face goes loose. There’s air on parts of me that shouldn’t feel air. Nick won’t stop staring.

Slowly, I touch my face.