He doesn’t have to. He doesn’t have to do anything for me, not after what I brought down on us. We lost the Vanguard, we lost so many people, we’re fucked. But Nick just pulls out a length of string and cuts it with his teeth.

“Pick out some beads.”

I half-heartedly pick a few random ones—green, red, whatever—but eventually I find ones that look like the trans flag.

Nick shakes his head. “Other colors,” he says.

I narrow my eyes at him. He pulls a half-finished lizard from the bag with the same pastel pinks, blues, and whites.

“Already working on it,” he says.

I pick out a rainbow instead. He holds out his work to show me what he’s doing.

“You put on one of these,” he says, stringing a red bead, “and then double thread it. Like this.” He hands me the awkward mess of beads and string. “You do the next two. And don’t forget the eyes.”

My hands shake, but after a try or two, I get the next row. When I reach the toes, though, I get frustrated trying to make them look right. Nick tells me to stop pulling the string so taut. I can’t. There’s anger curling up in my hollow chest, but it isn’t Seraph’s anger; it isn’t the white-hot violent thing that made me tear out those throats and slam Nick into the bodies. It’s—it’s helpless. I never asked for this. I never wanted to be an Angel, and I never wanted to be their martyr. I’m a kid, and all I ever do is ruin things.

The ALC would be better off if they’d never brought me in.

I yank the string so hard, it snaps. The beads tumble to the floor. Nick sucks in a breath. I can’t look at him. I focus on the rough carpet speckled with all kinds of colors, dizzy from the heat, exhaustion, and dehydration, desperate to think of anything but him and what I’ve done.

After a moment, Nick takes the broken string out of my hand and gives me another.

“Do you want me to start it again?” he asks.

I shake my head and pick the beads up off the floor.

It doesn’t matter what I asked for. There’s nothing we can do about what’s already happened. I was raised by Angels. The world ended. They got into my head and turned me into this. That may not be my fault, but it is my responsibility. I’ll take the blame for what I’ve done and do everything I can to fix what I didn’t. If I can fix this, I have to. If I can find a way to keep my friends safe, I will.

That’s what it means to be good.