Kor isn’t a Sire. He can’t be. He doesn’t have the symptoms I grew up with. I look at his upper lip, and his scar is still there. Sires don’t scar. Could he have gotten ahold of a Ha’i stone? But his hands are empty.

“I don’t understand.”

“Isn’t it amazing? Do you know how much good I’ve done already?” His face is glowing. “I’ve been helping at the charity clinic. There are so many little things I can heal with my energy alone. I’ve saved lives, Ada.”

He closes his eyes, brow furrowed. “There used to be so much noise. All these fans thinking I was someone special, treating me as if singing songs was bringing meaning into their lives. I felt like such an impostor with nothing real to give.” He opens his eyes. “But now, now I have so much to give.”

He takes my hand in his, his gaze growing somber. “I’m sure there are some nice people on that island, but I will do whatever it takes to help our world.”

There’s something about the way he says this that makes my body grow cold. “Kor. What have you done?”

But I already know how someone who wasn’t born a Sire can gain Sire powers.

“You’ve been drinking the abducted Sires’ blood,” I choke out in shock and disgust.

He nods.

“But… you’re a vegan!” I hardly recognize the person talking to me.

“I’ve accepted that this power comes with a cost.”

“Human blood!” I back away from him in horror. “How are you even able to digest it?”

“Prometheus gave me the information I needed to change myself.” Prometheus. Kor’s ally from Avant. I know he’s given important information to the Families but nothing that would give them direct access to the people. Nothing like what they were hoping to get from me. “It was not an easy surgery.”

I gasp as Kor lifts up his shirt. There’s a brutal crisscross of scars, a map of torn flesh. “Sire abilities only heal your body as it is now, not any damage from before they kick in.” There is bitterness in his voice. Kor had worked hard for the body that had earned him a slew of shirtless magazine covers. His scarred abdomen is a far cry from photo shoot worthy now.

If Prometheus taught Kor how to do this to himself, I can only imagine what other medical knowledge he may have.

“Can Prometheus help cure Grandfather?”

“Tomás?” Kor pulls his shirt back down.

“From his cancer.”

“Tomás isn’t sick.”

I’m so confused. “He is sick.”

“He’s an old man, Ada. He had a routine operation while you were in Italy, and another since then. There was a difficult recovery period, but he’s fine now.”

“But what about all the stem cell stuff and the blood transfusions?”