“Tell you what,” said Victor. “You remember me, and I’ll remember you, and that way we won’t be forgotten.”

“Mr. Ever here is going to keep this city safe,” she told them, her blue eyes shining. “He’s a hero, isn’t he, Officers?” Officer Dane nodded. At first Stell only looked at Eli, but eventually, he nodded, too. “A hero,” they echoed.

When Sydney didn’t move, Victor took her by the arm, curling his fingers over the place she’d been shot. He’d taken away the pain, but he wanted her to remember, both what Eli had done, and what he could do. She froze beneath his touch as with his free hand, he tugged the collar of his shirt down so she could see the first of the three scars made b

But these words people threw around—humans, monsters, heroes, villains—to Victor it was all just a matter of semantics.

He swallowed, and drove the pen into his dead friend’s chest. One count, two count, three count. Nothing. And then, somewhere between Victor giving up and reaching for his phone, Eli gasped.

He wondered about life, and people, and science, and magic, and God, and whether he believed in any of them.

“Do you even know how to use that?” he asked, thumbing a long, thin knife. Eli’s hands were shaking visibly around the gun’s grip.

“We’re all monsters,” she said, taking up her books. “But so are you.”

“Are you a doctor?” she countered. “I was supposed to be one. A long time ago.” “What happened?”