“He’ll get over it . . . He takes after his real father that way.”

Huh? Before he could ask for clarification, the other two agents had reached them. “Archer.” Franks nodded toward the mutilated bodies of the Nemesis creations. The demon spirits had latched on and were refusing to let go. Their redundant systems were keeping them alive. “They’ll heal soon. Burn them.”

“Yes, sir.” It didn’t matter that Franks was technically a fugitive, had been relabeled as a monster, and was the most wanted man in the world—when he gave an order MCB agents followed it. Archer ran back toward their car to get an incendiary.

Like the demons, Myers was only hanging on by sheer willpower. “Grant . . .” Myers whispered.

“I’m here, Director.” He knelt next to him.

“You remind me of myself.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I was a dick at that age too . . . Now go help Tom.”

Jefferson looked to Franks. It wouldn’t do any good, but most humans did not like to die alone. Franks nodded. Jefferson went to help the rookie.

“I will avenge you,” Franks said. He did not really know how to comfort anyone.

“Finish this, Franks, but don’t tear the whole country down to do it. Promise me that.”

“Yes, sir.”

A hand tapped his shoulder. Franks thought about tearing it off, but these agents had been loyal enough to Dwayne Myers to come here, so he let it go. “What?”

Jefferson sounded very hesitant. “I’m sorry, Agent Franks, but you need to see this.”

Surprisingly, Strayhorn was sitting up. He had a glazed look on his face and a small bottle in his hand. A single drop of liquid was rolling down the side of the bottle. It was glowing. The drop sizzled when it hit Strayhorn’s fingers.

“The Elixir of Life,” Franks stated.

“He had some on him. He just drank the whole thing,” Jefferson said. “I didn’t know.”

The rookie had just committed suicide. It would speed up his inevitable end, but he’d picked the most painful way possible to do it. The government’s best scientists had never gotten the mixture to work on any mortal-born being without the Elixir’s forced purification ripping their imperfect bodies to pieces. Strayhorn should have just asked Franks to put him out of his misery and been done with it. Shooting him in the head would have saved them all time.

All the other human test subjects from over the years would have been vomiting blood by now. Strayhorn dropped the empty bottle and it rolled into the river. The expected convulsions were not starting. He struggled to his feet, and stood there, wobbling. The rookie’s blood-soaked shirt was hanging open. All the capillaries around the bullet hole were glowing blue.

“Probationary Agent Strayhorn. Reporting for duty.” He was incoherent from the blood loss. Even on Franks, the Elixir needed time to work.

“How?” Franks asked suspiciously as he reached for his Glock.