The tower walking next to me moves with impressive fluidity for his girth, and regardless of his menacing size, there’s gentleness in his face that makes it impossible to be scared of him.

We do several laps around the house without saying anything. He isn’t trying to drag me into the woods, but I’m not sure that’s a good thing since my self-destructive thoughts have returned in lieu of fear. It’s for the best to rid the world of me. Can’t they see that? Surrendering to this fate is the only safe way to move forward.

For everyone except you, Superego chides.

He gives me a chin lift. “I’m Brody.”

“Sheyla.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way.” He grimaces. “You’re not what I expected.”

I sigh. “Why is it when someone has something negative to say, they always start it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way but, no offense but, I hope this doesn’t hurt your feelings but.” I scoff. “But. But. But.”

But. But. But, Superego echoes cheerfully.

When he laughs, the moonlight breaks through the darkness, transforming the sound into color. His blondish highlights glisten, offset by his deep tan. He looks like a surfer…or a cabana boy on a tropical vacation. I want to feel some of the heat I see in his exhaled breath.

“I expected I’d want to—” He stops himself short.

“Eat me or something,” I finish for him.

He laughs again and shakes his head. “We don’t eat people.”

“I’m not people, remember?”

“It surprises me how close to people you are, though.” He kicks at the piled snow we pass. A giant chunk flies toward the house. Sadly, it doesn’t find purchase. “For now, anyway.”

“You can call it whatever you want. Feeding on my energy, draining me, or ridding the world of the danger that’s me. It’s all the same thing at the end of the day. Once it’s accomplished, I’ll no longer exist. Neither will the threat.”

He rubs the shaggy mop on his head. “Fair point.”

“What did Tally mean when she said they brought you into this world?” I kick at the snow as he did. It doesn’t budge for me. Hurts my foot, too. I school my pain like a champ, refusing to embarrass myself further by wimping out vocally.

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“Ah, the circle of our lives. I was human once.”

“So were they,” I defend them.

“Okay, let me see if I can explain this simply. They were never human. They only had the illusion of being human while they waited to transition into what they are. Not human.”

“Semantics. I feel pretty human. Mostly.” Even I have a hard time selling myself that one.

“I had the potential to remain human. No change. No transition. I could’ve lived a perfectly normal human life.”

I stare blanks, struggling for an adequate response. My human side, the one that’s more human than it’s been in months, wants to bail from everything and embrace the cold, soothing mist coating the night air. What is a perfectly normal human life? Normal is subjective.

“That was taken from me. When the Sentry found me—they seek out prospects—they thought I could be the first water-glider in a century. They were wrong. So, here I am, part of something I didn’t ask for and hoping I don’t screw this up, being that I’m not their prodigal water-baby. They won’t keep me around if I can’t protect you.”

The tremor in his voice indicates his emotion for what he’s explaining, but I miss feeling it. Before I discovered my enhanced empathy, it seemed natural. Not enhanced, just part of my genetic makeup, a defense mechanism to prevent authentic human connection, in turn protecting me and anyone foolish enough to step in my firing range. Being without my gift is making communication a struggle.

He’s obviously upset. Should I do something? Try to cheer him up? Laugh at him? Punch him? What’s the social protocol for emotionally supporting an absolute stranger who essentially wants to slurp the life force out of you? Heh, I’ll just ignore there was any negative emotional current in the first place. Bullseye.

“How long have you been a land-walker?”

Nailed it, Superego praises.

He shoves his giant hands into his pockets. “Ten years.”

“There are water-gliders?” I swiftly correct myself. “Were water-gliders.”

“Yep.”

“Not anymore?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

He cracks his knuckles. “There are no more sky-fliers, either. We’re all that’s left of the Sentry. When we’re changed, our first shift decides what our station is. No one has filled those positions, despite the Tribunal’s preparation attempts. I’m a land-walker, the most recently inducted into the Sinsear Sentry.”

“You can’t switch?”

“Nope.”

“Not cool.”

“My intention was to come out here and explain things to you...about you.” He eyes me warily. “I wasn’t planning on giving you my back story.”

“So?” The boy evidently needs to get some garbage off his broad chest, and I honestly doubt his gruff-looking, land-walking leader is the conversational type. “Everyone needs someone to talk to.”

“Well, I’m torn about the someone my mouth has chosen.”

“We’re supposed to be natural enemies due to self-preservation instincts. I don’t have those.”

He grunts. “No, you definitely do not. You seem dead set on being first in line at the volcano. Problem is, you’re more likely to cause the eruption by jumping than appeasing it to sleep.”

“Guess I’ll be stuck with the keep your friends close and your enemies closer prerogative. At least until we see which way the wind’s blowing.”

Maybe they’re all just plain wrong. I feel less powerful, less volatile than ever. Whether it’s because of my interaction with Derry or a coincidental extinguishing of what was thought to be my destiny, who knows? It doesn’t matter. What matters is the spark’s sleeping, and I don’t want to wake it up.

How long can it sleep? Will it wake up stronger than ever and swallow North America on a yawn?