He runs a hand through his hair, pushing his messy brown locks away from his forehead. When he lets go, they fall right back into place. “It’s called a Nightling. Animals don’t exist in Infinity—not the way we once knew them. They’re created.”

“Someone made that thing on purpose?” I ask, horrified.

“No, not on purpose. Some creatures, like the Daylings, are made from human memories. Creatures remembered from a place of love,” he says, brushing away a piece of stray grass.

I remember Prince Caelan’s carriage that day in the market, and the horse with eyes like starlight.

He continues. “But others are created from nightmares. A Nightling is drawn to fear. Sometimes it can even grow from it.” Gil looks at the gash on my forearm, but he doesn’t say any more.

“But does that mean…?” I blink, horrified. I can still feel the cold brush of Philo’s ghost. His presence chasing me through the trees. “Am I the one who created it?”

“It’s no small feat to call a Nightling into existence. They require an unnatural amount of fear.” He lifts his eyes slowly. “Did something happen to you out here?”

I tuck my arms into myself, shivering, and tell him about the frost, and the floating consciousness, and the memories of Death. I tell him everything.

Normally his face looks like someone on the verge of an outburst, fueled by anger. But now he’s unreadable.

After a long time, he finds his voice. “We’ve told you before that Victory wasn’t the worst place a human could be.”

“I know. But what they did to that man… What they’re making humans do to other humans…” The air in my lungs gives out, and I dig my fingers into the soil. I know I shouldn’t be surprised by anything the Residents do, but I can’t help it. I wanted to believe some of them were different. That they couldn’t all want the same thing. That they couldn’t all be bad. “I’ve always known to be frightened of what the Residents were capable of. But maybe I haven’t been frightened enough of them.”

Gil tilts his head. “And now?”

I look up, trying to make sense of everything I saw. Everything I know.

Ophelia asked if I could coexist in a world with my own murderer, and I said I wasn’t sure. That I’d want the chance to try.

Is it fair to give one person the opportunity for redemption but deny another? Where do we draw our lines, and why do we make exceptions about who’s allowed to cross over them?

If we can’t figure out what’s fair, and right, and equal, then maybe Ophelia wasn’t lying. Maybe Infinity was as much a chaos as the living world has always been.