The Flood should have split his skull the way it did that brother, the way it did that little girl. It should have cracked him open too, Seraph’s growing pains rippling outward with an uncontrollable roar. Grief is easier to fake when you’re not allowed to show it in the first place. I’ll be glad to be rid of him.

Not yet. Not yet, I keep saying, not yet, not yet.

I get one arm under me. The other. My feet. Theo steps back, holding out a hand as if he could steady me. I waver on all fours for a moment, breathing hard. This is where my body is meant to be—Graces often stay on all fours to steady themselves, and my proportions have shifted enough that this feels natural. But it isn’t enough.

I stand.

My full height is immense. I loom over Theo, a snarled tree of flesh and bone, my wings blocking the light and shrouding us both in shadow. Theo stares up at me, eyes wide and glittering with awe. The bucket hits the ground. Water spills across the floor.

“God,” he whispers. “God.”

In the two-way mirror behind him stands the creature that lurked among the trees. The creature that slammed me through the skylight of the student union. The creature that peered at me through the window of this very room. A long tail made of sinew and spines curls at my feet. My face is unrecognizable, my eyes clouded white and the skin pulled tight against the skull. The only thing saying it’s still me is the open-wound mouth full of fangs, each tooth a finger long. I am a charred corpse wreathed in wings, nothing but armor, sharp edges, and feathers.

Hell has followed us onto Earth, and I am the monster that has brought it forth.

“See?” Theo puts a hand on my stomach. “You’re beautiful.”

The rest of the week is a blur of exhaustion, tests, and wondering if I can have a panic attack in a body like this. White walls, Sister Kipling’s office, exam rooms, over and over. The health center is on lockdown. Soldiers plaster massive sheets over the glass walls of the first floor. I have been cut off from the outside world, and the outside world has been cut off from me.

Every time the sheets flutter and I can see outside, I want to slam myself against the glass. Where is Nick? Is he okay? I don’t want to be alone here.

I want them to be okay.

Throughout the tests, Sister Kipling does not say a word to me. She takes vitals, checks her notes, and won’t even look at me.

“Meet me alone,” I say to her. Her eyes widen, and she hurries off.