“No matter what,” she murmurs, “I cannot express how happy I am you’re home.” Her eyes are so, so full of love. I don’t recognize it. She’s never looked at me like this, especially not since she found out I was a boy. “We really are lucky to have you. I am so, so proud.”

This is what it took for her to be proud of me?

The back door crashes open with an urgency that makes my wings fluff up like a startled cat. The soldiers have been using the back door to get in and out without drawing attention, but I thought they were all here. All of them, except—

Theo and the general.

The general stands aside, sneer lines permanently etched into his face, but Theo sprints across the lobby of the health center, grabs me by the neck, swings himself around, and laughs.

“Good morning!” he says. I wiggle out from his arms, rising up a bit on my hind legs so his grip loosens. I’m too stressed to play the good boyfriend. I don’t want him to touch me. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? God bless.”

His head is shaved. His robe has all the room for armor underneath and a sash around his waist holds space for a knife and a pistol.

He’s—

“Notice anything different?” he giggles.

He’s been reinstated as a death-squad soldier.

I hate him. I hate him so much. Nick should have shot him when he had the chance. He should have killed him; he should have put his brains in the ground like the Angels did to Dad.

“This is for you,” Theo says. “Because of you.” He pulls my face down to kiss what’s left of my nose. “I can’t wait to show New Nazareth how much I love you.”

I love you should never be so terrifying.

Please let the Watch be out there. Please.

“Are we ready?” Mom says, sweeping to her feet in a rush of silver.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Theo replies.

We fall into formation, Mom, Sister Kipling, and Squad Devotion all. Theo’s hand rests on my arm as I step onto the lawn before the road to the gate, squinting against the brilliant light of late morning.

“How?” I ask Theo, because it’s the only word I can get out of me that isn’t a flurry of fuck you fuck you fuck you.

“You’re home,” he says. “I need to be by your side.”

This is what he’s always wanted. I came back, and he gets his dreams handed to him in a bundle of white fabric. They would look better stained with blood, the contents of his skull dripping down those perfect robes.

Keep it together.