“You’re trying to stop a war.” He said it simply, a statement rather than a question, but Kira could sense the same question underneath it: Why? Why was she leaving him? Why wasn’t she asking him to go? Why did she need Samm when he was right here? He didn’t ask, though, and Kira wouldn’t have been able to answer him anyway.

Because I’m a Partial. Because I’m a question. Because my entire life, the entire world, is so much bigger than it was a few months ago, and none of it makes sense, and everything in it is dangerous, and somehow I’m at the center of it. Because groups I didn’t even know existed are using me for plans I can’t possibly comprehend. Because I need to know what I am.

And who.

“Now it was her turn to cry, her voice cracking, her eyes growing wet. “I love you, Marcus, I do, and I always have, but I—I can’t tell you this. Not yet.”

“When?”

“Maybe soon. Maybe never. I don’t even know what it is I can’t tell you, I just … just trust me, Marcus, okay?”

He glanced at her bag, packed and ready by the inside of her door. “Are you leaving today?”

“Yes.”

“Now?”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said. “There’s nothing keeping me here.”

“You can’t come with me,” said Kira adamantly. “I need you to stay here.” I’m not ready for you to learn the things I want to learn about myself. I’m not ready for you to know what I am.

“Fine, then,” said Marcus. His words were short and clipped, trading sadness for anger and only barely concealing either. He stood slowly, walked to the door, opened it. Waited.

“Thank you,” said Kira. “For everything.”

“Good-bye,” said Marcus.

Kira blinked back a tear. “I love you.”

Marcus turned and walked away. Kira watched the empty doorway long after he was gone.

Nandita had never returned, and the house was cold and empty. Kira assembled her things: her bag of clothes, a bedroll and camping supplies, a new medkit; a rifle over her shoulder, and a semiautomatic at her hip. She looked around her house one final time, straightening the sheets on the bed, and her eye caught the gleam of a reflection on the nightstand. A framed photo. Kira frowned and walked toward it. That’s not mine.

It was a photo of three people, standing in front of a building. It was upside down, and she turned it around slowly.

She gasped.

Standing in the middle was her, as a child, barely four years old. On her right was her father, exactly how he looked in her memory. On her left was Nandita. Behind them, on the high brick wall of the building, was a single word.

ParaGen.