We don’t say anything. We just look at him.

He stops in front of us and in a second, he’s back. “Too quiet in here,” he says, rolling beads between his fingers. “What’s wrong.”

Cormac points to me. “I told you, I’m not working with him.”

My face burns, blood rushing to the surface, a Seraph burn. It’s glorious, getting angry so quickly. Maybe the Flood has given me something in return for my body: the anger I never let myself have as a little girl, the rage I swallowed down every day of my life. It feels like it’s slotting into place where it was meant to be all along. Under my mask, I bite down hard on my cheek.

Nick blinks slowly at Cormac, unimpressed. “Yes, I heard you the first time.”

“Then what the fuck.” As Cormac talks, I suck on my teeth, fingers digging into the armrest. “You saw what he did to Alex.”

Salvador hums, “I think you’re just jealous they’re paying more attention to him than you.”

“Oh my God, their boyfriend just died,” Aisha says. “Leave them out of it.”

“Guys,” Faith cuts in. “Come on.”

I can’t help myself. “I’m right here, asshole.”

Cormac gets up from his chair, vibrating with anger. “You tried to kill them!”

“They tried to crack my head open!”

Nick hooks his foot under the edge of the coffee table and hoists it up. It flips with a terrible crash, sending books, papers, and pens scattering across the floor. I yelp. Faith swears, cords of muscle standing out in her neck.

“That’s enough,” Nick snarls. My skin prickles with excitement. The noise, the shouting—I could get used to this. I could leave the old Benji behind, the one who cowered behind Mom’s robes and fell to my knees on the bridge. “All of you.”

Cormac sinks back into the chair. Aisha looks away. I take a long, deep breath, expanding my chest until my lungs ache and then letting it out slowly through my nose. The heat settles into a comfortable place in my chest, right below my ribs, under the sternum. Among flesh, bone, and organs. Where everything should be.

“Thank you,” Nick says. He primly readjusts the nose of his mask. I wish I could read underneath it, see what’s going on there, figure out what he’s hiding from us. “We have something important to talk about.”

We nod, suddenly one group again, pulled together for what we’re here to do. Nick has that effect on us. I allow myself to admit that it is beautiful, the same way he is, even if I still want to dig my nail into my ring finger.

Nick leans against an overstuffed armchair, lording over us.

“In four days,” he says, “a pilgrimage of Angels will be heading to Reformation Faith Evangelical Church for an initiation ceremony.” Wait, he’s not actually considering—“After intercepting papers concerning the details last week, and considering the trouble we’ve had with the Vanguard, it’s in our best interest to intervene. If anyone has any objections, speak now.”