“Oh. Oh shit.” Ross’s exhale is explosive as he drops his hands to half-mast. “Oh man.” The release of tension as he laughs.

“I’m really sorry. Are you okay?”

“Am I…” Ross is still laughing a little. “Oh man. No, I’m fine. It’s okay. Oh wow.”

“Again, I apologize.”

“Geez, no! It’s all… it’s all okay.” Ross looks sheepish. “I mean, I nearly wet my pants, but it’s fine.”

“Ah hell—”

“No, no, it’s fine. You’re chasing a suspect, I get it.… You mean there’s someone in the hospital? Should I be warning the—”

“Uh, no, not yet.” Cooper scans the hall behind Ross. “Can you tell me where exactly I am?”

“You’re on the third floor, west wing. Oncology department.”

“Okay.” Cooper’s radio buzzes.

“I mean, this is an older part of the wing. It’s mostly just equipment storage and surgery prep now.”

“Got it, thank you. Excuse me a minute.” Cooper angles toward the windows, lifting the handset. “This is CP1, can I get a—”

“Which made it easy to find all the things I needed,” Ross says, and he steps forward and thumps his gloved fist against the right side of Cooper’s neck.

Cooper feels it like a punch, and the force and angle of the strike send him off balance, stumbling against the wall when he should be lifting his weapon. The radio handset spills out of his grasp and bounces once, twice, exploding into parts that skitter away. Cooper swivels to face Ross, knowing he should be angry, but mainly angry at himself for being taken by surprise.

“You’re not—” Distracted by the feeling of wet on his shirt, Cooper falls to his knees.

“No,” Anthony Hoyt says. He tosses the concealed scalpel blade onto the linoleum, so Cooper understands fully.

“Fuck,” Cooper says, but the word sounds fuzzy. His vision, too, is fuzzy. He claps a hand against his neck, knowing it’s pointless.

“It’s a shame to waste all this,” Hoyt says, gesturing at the widening red pool, “but you’re no good to me. Too old. Already decaying from all those years of memory and regret. I’m right, aren’t I? I’m sure you can feel it.”

Cooper has memories, and he does feel regret. But he’s always made his own choices, and they play before him now like a beautiful, unspooling thread of gold.

“I’ve spared you, you know,” Hoyt says. “Aging is an indignity and mortality is a prison. Think of this as a liberation.”

“We’ll catch you,” Cooper whispers, remembering his promise.

“No, you won’t.” Hoyt is stripping off his gloves, removing the surgical cap. “The venerable FBI—grizzled old men doddering along the same predictable paths of investigation. You don’t stand a chance against someone like me.”

Cooper finds gravity bearing him down, until the cool linoleum rests against his cheek. The man before him steps in. That’s right, come closer, Cooper thinks, before realizing he doesn’t have the strength to do anything about it.

Hoyt kicks Cooper’s gun aside and hunkers down. “Don’t feel bad. It’s really not your fault. Not everyone can be what I’m becoming. I have the advantage of medical training, I know, but it’s not just about longevity and being well—it’s about being whole. I’m still in transition, but I can feel it. I’m getting younger all the time. And I’m so fast now. It’s like… a burning inside, you know? There’s no one who can keep up.”