“The hell it isn’t!” He turns and punches the bag several more times. “This is about strength versus weakness, and it always has been. If you can’t stand the heat and all that, right? I grew up weak. I couldn’t handle death. You should have seen how pathetic I was after Dad died.” He laughs like a schoolyard bully, and the sound of it hits my gut like poison. “I cried and cried. A fat lot of good crying did when Mom got shot. That’s what I admired about you when I first met you. You didn’t even hesitate. You killed people like it meant nothing. You took them apart like they were old toys you’d finished playing with. It was fucking glorious.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” I mutter.

  “Don’t be so modest,” he says. “If you were chained up in that basement, you would have saved my family and killed Mary fucking Denau. Oh, did I tell you? Whiteface gave me a choice. All I had to do was tell him to kill the fucking leader of Seditio, and he would have spared my mom and grandpa. But I didn’t.” He punches the bag several more times, and I’m surprised he’s not broken his knuckles the way he’s doing it. “Because I’m weak!”

  “You didn’t know who it was,” I remind him. I’ve already been briefed on what went down in that basement. Mary Denau seemed to have been in two places at once. The full story left me wondering whether I saw the real Mary or a decoy, but I don’t suppose it matters.

  “Sure, sure, that’s a reasonable excuse,” he says. “But you know what? I don’t think I would have chosen differently if I did know who she was. All life is precious; that’s what I thought. But it’s bullshit, isn’t it? Some lives are useless. Some people don’t do any good in the world. And when those people die, they don’t deserve huge, pretentious funerals.”

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. This is not the Orion I met back in Mobile. Before I can stop myself, I grab his collar and back him into a wall. “What did you just imply?” My forearm is at his throat, and I push in until he chokes. “Ying Yue died trying to save your life.”

  When I let up, he smiles. “Where I come from, we call that failure.”

  I slap him. I can’t help it. He’s behaving like the spoiled child he is. He shoves me off, and I hate myself for losing control. “She sacrificed herself for you,” I say as he picks up his towel and heads for the door.

  “Yeah, well… maybe she shouldn’t have.” He storms into the hall and snaps at someone just outside the gym. “Got an ear-load, did you? Running to Papa with all your problems,” he scoffs as his voice grows more distant. “Loser.”

  I follow him and find Aiden waiting in the hall. “He didn’t mean that,” I say.

  Aiden cocks his head. “Didn’t he?”

  “He’s been through a lot.”

  “So have we.”

  He’s right. I know he’s right. We’ve all suffered, and we’ve all been broken by the things we’ve seen. Each of us has our own way of dealing with it. Maybe Orion’s coping strategy is destructive because he’s not used to loss. Even when his father died, he had the rest of his friends and family to support him. What if losing so many people at once and being left with next to no one has cracked his psyche in a way the rest of us will never really understand?

  I remember, when I was a kid, someone told me God sends everyone to heaven first, even the sinners, because starting off in heaven makes hell that much harder to bear. Maybe there’s some truth to that. Maybe recruiting someone like Orion was a mistake. I hate to admit it, but I’m beginning to think Cain was right.

  * * *

  Weeks go by, and I don’t see Orion. Frankly, I don’t want to. It’s a good idea for us to get some distance from each other so we can both cool down. I keep expecting to run into him in the gym or cafeteria, but I never do. There’s a chance it’s just luck, but I’ve never been lucky, so I find that hard to believe.

  No, something’s not right. Finally, I march down the halls of the Gate to Orion’s room and hammer on the door with my fist. I have no idea what I’ll say to him when he opens it. I shouldn’t have been so impulsive. My foot taps involuntarily as I shift in place, waiting to be made a fool of. But no one answers.

  I try the handle, and the door opens. The room is empty save one bookmarked volume on his nightstand. Where is Orion? Like someone’s nosy parent, I start by opening his drawers and lockers. They’re all empty. Did Cain move him to another room, or has something unthinkable happened? But Sarah would have told me if Orion had hurt himself or been dismissed. So where is he?

  When I find Cain, he’s in his office, going over maps and documents. “Come in,” he says without glancing up.

  As offended as I should be that he won’t even look at me, I’m used to it by now. “Where’s Orion?”

  “On a mission,” he answers like that isn’t the worst place Orion could be besides the grave.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Now go. I have work to do.”

  I roll my eyes. He’s only ever busy when there’s something he doesn’t want to talk about. “Your work can wait. I need to know why the House’s most psychologically fragile Acolyte is off on a mission while I’ve been laid up here like both my legs are broken.”

  Now he looks up, a sly smile on his face. “You can’t kill. He can. It isn’t a matter of who’s more fragile. It’s a matter of who can still do the job.”

  An old anger I haven’t felt since I was a child rises in my chest. “The job isn’t supposed to be killing. We’re collecting artifacts, preventing cults, keeping order. That’s what you told me the day I joined.”

  Cain leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. “That changed when Seditio became too powerful. Now the job is extermination.”

  “You can’t be serious.” But he is. I can tell he is. This is really what we’re here to do—kill people. I thought my situation was unique. I thought I was executing troublesome members of Seditio so no one else would have to. “I thought I was your Grim Reaper.”

  “Jealous, Eden? Don’t be. You found a good recruit. He’s a solid performer.”

  “He’s not right in the head!” I can’t keep my cool anymore listening to his smug excuses. “His entire family was murdered in front of him. He was tortured—physically and mentally tortured. You can’t keep acting like that didn’t happen. Seditio broke him… on purpose. And you’re not even giving him time to heal.”

  Cain leans on his elbows and taps the eraser end of his pencil on his desk. “Or maybe Seditio made him stronger. Maybe, in trying to break him, they made him unbreakable. You and the others have your coping mechanisms, right? We’ve all discussed this at length. Now yours is malfunctioning. How soon until Aiden’s breaks down too? Sarah’s? Joshua’s? Any one of you could lose your ability to do the job at any given time. But Orion doesn’t need a coping mechanism anymore. He does the job and enjoys it.”

  The job. This isn’t the job I signed up for. I signed up to prevent situations like the one that killed the hyacinth—to save lives, not end them. Yes, I kill people, but the ends… The ends always justified the means. Didn’t they? Now we’re just playing at war with our archnemesis, and it feels like we’re only protecting our pride. I clench my fists and mutter, “This is wrong.”

  “It may be,” Cain says, interlacing his fingers under his chin. “But it’s working, and you should be proud.”

  “I’m not.”

  “And I’m sorry for that, but what’s done is done. All we can do is make the best of a bad situation.”

  * * *

  I make the best of a bad situation by throwing myself into training. I take out my rage on dummies and sparring partners. I run laps around the Gate’s enormous deck until the air stings my lungs and I feel like I’m going to throw up. I try and fail, repeatedly, to make progress on Don Quixote, but it’s useless. If someone told me that book was written by a time traveler who meant to mock me hundreds of years before I was born, I’d believe it.

  Don Quixote is about an old man who sees the world, not the way it is, but the way he wishes it was. He’s a delusional idiot. My coping mechanism is on full display in this book, and it looks ridiculous. I hate it. So, what am I doing about it? Tilting at windmills, apparently… or punching bags. Whichever. It makes no difference in the end. Either way, I’m stuck on the Gate battling imaginary giants while Orion’s out there killing members of Seditio and enjoying it, if Cain’s assessment is accurate.

  After months of this agony, Joshua finds me in the shooting range and waves me over. I engage the safety on my weapon and take off my protective gear. “What is it?”

  “It’s Orion,” he says, his voice low like he’s afraid someone will walk by and hear. “You need to talk to Cain about him. I’ve been on several missions with him now, and I’m done, man. Sorry I ever called you a serial killer. You’re not the psycho—he is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He’s killing people who don’t need to die, and he’s doing it to cause maximum pain. He just… laughs at them. I don’t know. It’s not that he doesn’t value life anymore; it’s that he values death more. He keeps ranting about how ‘the weak should die,’ or some nonsense like that. He’s gone full tilt, Eden. I’m not kidding.”

  I clench my fists at my sides and breathe deeply. “You mean torture?”

  “Torture, yeah. Sure. But he’s not even trying to get information out of anyone half the time. It’s more like he’s taking revenge.”

  “On Seditio?”

  Joshua shakes his head. “On himself.”

  That’s all I need to hear. I head directly for Cain’s office but don’t find him there. I finally locate the man enjoying a sunset on deck. He leans against the rail with his ankles crossed, looking exactly like he would if he were on vacation. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he says.

  I don’t feel like playing his game. “Get Orion off duty. Now.”

  He turns to me briefly and looks away again before answering, “No.”

  “Cain—”

  “Remember your rank, lad. Watch how you speak to me.”

  Heat rises to my cheeks. I want to punch him. Is he doing this on purpose? Is it some kind of test? “Joshua says he’s torturing people. If you won’t take my word for it, at least take Joshua’s. He’s even more worried than I am. You were right, okay? Orion’s not fit to work with us. Put him on administrative duty or something.”

  A faint smile crosses Cain’s face and quickly dies again. “I was thinking of promoting him. We’re short a Judge, and someone needs to wield Dark Summer now that Ying Yue’s dead.”

  It’s impossible to hide my horror at this suggestion. Not only is Orion in the middle of a psychological break, but he’d be going into battle as a Judge without the protection of the Finger of God. I can’t tell if Cain is trying to make him into a new Grim Reaper or get him killed. Both prospects are equally horrible. “Isn’t Kelly Lucas next in line? She’s been working toward the position for years, and she’d be more cautious considering the situation she’ll be in.”

  “Caution is not a desired trait in this case.”

  If my fingernails dig any deeper into my palms, they’ll leave permanent marks. “You don’t care about any of us, do you? You never did. You’ll send us out to die if you think it best serves the House.”

  “Yes,” he says matter-of-factly. “The House is all that matters. I thought I drilled that into you early on.”

  “People matter too.” I tap my knuckles to my chest. “We matter.” Then I hesitate because I don’t think I want to hear his answer. “Don’t we?”

  He sighs and stands up straight, finally taking his eyes off the sunset, which has gone from orange to pink on the horizon. “You know, one day, even I’ll retire. I’d thought you might be a suitable replacement, but there’s a chance you’ve become too sentimental. To run the House of David, you have to care about the House of David above everything and everyone else. Take some time to think about that, Eden. Consider whether fighting for someone who was a stranger to you a year ago is worth sacrificing your future here.”

  Then he’s gone, and I’m left staring out at a darkening horizon, wondering whether I could ever become the kind of man my surrogate father wants me to be—wondering whether I’d ever really want to.

  * * *

  Later that night, a knock on my door wakes me, and I realize I’ve nodded off over Don Quixote for the umpteenth time. “Who is it?”

  “It’s me,” Sarah’s voice answers.

  “It’s unlocked.”

  She enters my room with a cheeky smile, tucking one side of her hair behind her ear. “Happy birthday!” she says, and she hands me a package wrapped in brown paper with a bright red bow.

  “It isn’t my birthday.”

  She shrugs. “I know, but I couldn’t wait. You’ve been moping around so much, I thought it might cheer you up.”

  I turn the package over in my hands. “Am I that obvious?”

  “You are to me, maybe not to other people. How’s Don Quixote coming?” Her grin broadens because she already knows what my answer will be.

  I close the giant volume on my bed and push it toward her. “Take it. You were right. You win. I’m not ready for Don Quixote. I’ll never be ready for it, apparently.”

  She reaches out and pats my shoulder. “It’s just not the right book for your current existential crisis. I noticed you tend to apply everything you read to yourself somehow. You take it personally, don’t you?”

  “No,” I lie.

  She arches an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. The problem is that Poe’s unnamed protagonist, Gatsby, and Don Quixote all see the world wrong because they’re running from reality. That’s just not true with you. That’s why you can’t relate to those stories.”

  I turn her gift over in my hands. It’s obviously book shaped. “And I suppose this is a story I can relate to?”

  “It’s more accurate to your circumstances,” she says.

  “It’s thin like a kid’s book.”

  “It is a kid’s book.” She grins and sits at the foot of my bed. “Specifically, this kid.” She gestures to herself.

  Suddenly, I can’t tear into the package fast enough. Sarah is giving me something that was once hers, something precious, and I need to know why. Inside the brown paper is a small blue book with a small illustrated boy on the cover. He looks a little like what I imagine Orion looked like as a child, with golden hair and an innocent expression. The book’s paper spine is cracked and its corners worn. Its pages are dog-eared and stained. “The Little Prince?”

  “It was my favorite when I was a kid. Don’t laugh at me.”

  But I can’t help laughing. She’s being so vulnerable right now, and I find it far too adorable to ignore. It almost makes up for the fact that she seems to think I can only relate to children’s literature. “Why are you giving this to me?” I ask.

  “Because it’s more accurate, like I said.” She’s growing impatient. “Ugh! Here.” She snatches the book out of my hands and starts flipping through the pages. “It’s about this pilot who crashes in the desert, and he meets a little prince from another planet. The little prince tells him all kinds of weird things about the planets he’s visited, but if you pay attention, all the nonsense he talks about is just stuff adults on Earth do. It’s because the prince sees things for what they are. Because he’s a child, you see?” She points out a picture, but I’m not looking at the book. She’s so beautiful when she’s excited, and I see it so rarely.

  Then she comes to a page with highlighted text. “This is what I wanted to show you. This is the whole point of the book.” Her scarred and slender finger points out the line, and I finally glance down to read it. It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.

  I go over the line again and again as she explains it. “It means what’s most important—what’s true—is invisible. But you see the truth, Eden. You’ve always seen it. That’s why you saw people as flowers. Their lives are beautiful and fragile. Maybe Orion valued life in theory, but you know why it matters—because it’s so easily crushed. You’re not running away from the truth with your delusions. You’re facing it head-on.”

  It’s impossible to look at her now. If I do, I’ll probably burst into tears. I think she’s wrong about me. She has to be wrong, but I’d give anything to believe her. “This is a really sweet gift, Sarah.” My voice cracks a bit, but I manage to hold it together.

  “You’ve got to stop seeing yourself in all that pretentious literature,” she says. “Because you’re here, in the most important book ever written.” She turns the page again and points out an illustration of a small animal with enormous ears. “This is how I saw you when I first met you. You were my fox. You still are. You’re the only fox in the world to me.”

  I laugh quietly. “A fox?”

  She lies on her back beside me and folds her hands under her head. “You’ll get it after you read it.”

  “You’re making it damn near impossible to resist kissing you.” I risk the flirtation. Something tells me she’ll appreciate it. Something tells me I’ve wasted years being overcautious with her.

  “Damn near isn’t good enough,” she says with a grin. “Better make it impossible.” Then she props herself on her elbow, leans in, and kisses me.

  At first, I’m shocked. Sarah hates physical contact, doesn’t she? Is she just doing this because she thinks I want it? I pull away and study her face. “It’s okay if you don’t want to,” I say. “You know that, right? I’m gonna love you the same either way.”

  She blushes, and I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen her cheeks turn this shade. “Tell me you love me again,” she says.

  “You know I do. There’s no way you haven’t noticed after all these years.”

  She throws her arms around my neck and kisses me again. This time, she opens her mouth and pulls herself against me. It’s unbelievable. I pray I’m not dreaming. Her body is so warm in my arms.