I come around from my self-displacement in Brody’s lap again. I’m not sure which is more awkward, the stiff couch or his muscled body. He smells nice, though, like Acacia and Ash Tree.

“Take me home.”

Those are the only words I give them. It’s more than they deserve.

No one puts up a fuss, and I spend the silent drive home hoping my father won’t be in the kitchen upon my arrival. They don’t bother to assure me I won’t attack him. Logically, I won’t be a threat to him until I transition, but it certainly explains his sweet, licorice perfume. It’s a permanent reminder he’s a food source prospect.

I bail on school. Every day. I can’t do it. I won’t do it. I hole up in my room, leaving only in the dead of night to run off as much energy as I can while my father’s blissfully unaware I’ve vacated the premises. It’s not enough. I’m not alone, but whoever is out there creeping on me is wise enough to keep their distance.

After a week, my father grows tired of my lame, sick excuses, and the low grade fever I force on myself to corroborate my story causes him to worry a tad more than I expect. That’s how I find myself here, at the hospital, the epicenter of my ultimate demise.

You should’ve told him the truth, Superego chastises.

“Right. That would’ve worked flawlessly. My friends being energy suckers is totally believable. Even more believable I’ll probably become one, too. Oh, yeah, and the icing on the cake he never got me for my birthday? That, of course, is how, if I somehow miraculously survive my explosive debut, he’ll become that cake. Nothing personal, Dad. You’re just delicious.”

You need to get over that cake, Superego tsks.

The receptionist reaches under the desk for the hidden security button. “Can I help you, Miss?”

Great. Now I’m talking out loud to myself. Perfect. Just perfect. I shake my head and advance to the elevator before he goes trigger happy on the white coat alert button. May as well check in on Mom while I’m here. There’s no better way to spend my idle time than with the reigning idle time champion.

I sit staring blanks at her motionless body, contemplating what bringing me into the world legitimately means. It means death. It means unleashing my destructive potential as a willing participant.

The electronic life-makers hiss at me. I don’t blame them. I deserve to be hissed at.

I sigh when Ryan enters the room. Guess they decided to send in the big guns. It seems a bit unfair to unleash him on me. I turned my phone off the second I got home, though snipping the technological tether was only an illusionary division. I’m surprised they’ve left me alone this long.

His deep regret is evident. It’s not just rippling toward me, either. It’s coming in giant waves that capsize my conscience before my ready and willing spark can calm his waters. I latch my hands on the metal chair arms for additional support.

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“I won’t stay,” Ryan murmurs, “but I needed to check on you.”

I try not to look straight at him. His disheveled state makes it nearly impossible not to blindly accept the apology he’s bound to give. Of them all, his involvement hurts me the most. Just considering the sort of monster he is tears my tinder heart in two. No matter how I try to justify their actions—self-preservation, continuance, or instinct—I can’t excuse how they choose to stay alive. I’d honestly rather die than be willfully responsible for taking someone’s life.

“What do you want?”

“I need you to know something. It might not be enough to settle your internal conflict, but hopefully, it helps tip the scales. I’ve been worried about you. We all have.”

“I’m very best,” I lie. “Not a care in the world.”

“You need to hear this, Sheyla, and I need you to seriously listen because regardless how you feel about us, or how you feel about yourself right now, we aren’t the monsters you’ve envisioned.”

“I get that you’ve had lots of time to figure out how to stow your conscience, but I’m not soliciting your moral abstinence.”

“We don’t hurt people, Sheyla.” He’s always been a little too good at filtering my sarcasm. “That’s not to say we never have or never will. While it took experimentation and medical innovations to accomplish our goals, we no longer require a direct source of energy replacement. We haven’t for a long time.”

He bridges the gap between us, crouching in front of me so our eyes are aligned. I see the lingering pain in his. He’s telling me the truth.

“I regret what happened in our journey to enlightenment, but I find comfort in the fact this way of life is a viable option for us. It also allows us to retain our strong sense of humanity.

“We draw our needed energy from donated blood. Removed from a human, it temporarily carries their essence. We can extract the essence without it affecting the usefulness of the blood. A transfusion isn’t a full replacement. There’s filtering and fusion. Their life force recirculates through the new blood once it enters their bodies. What we’ve taken from it is replaced by their own energy.”

“So, there’s no lasting impact.” My relief is immeasurable.

“Exactly.”

“Synthesized blood?”

“Synthesized blood won’t work.” He frowns the forlornest frown. “We’ve tried. It’s not about the blood, Sheyla. We aren’t vampires. It’s about the essence. That’s what we require. The blood is simply a conduit for the energy we need.”

“You waited a week to tell me this?” I appreciate the distance they gave me, but this is a huge piece of information that would’ve stalled the communication embargo. They intentionally let me sit and stew. Why?

“Tally and Declan wanted to tell you right away. I wanted to wait so you could see how critical your restraint is. I wanted you to worry over what you could become. Above all, I wanted you to see how important it is for you to maintain your humanity. It’s worth fighting for.”

“A hard lesson,” I grumble.

“A hard lesson,” he echoes.

“The Sumairs, were they part of the experimentation process? How are they involved in all this?”

“They spawned from our lack of moral abstinence, as you so eloquently framed it. I’m not convinced it counts as conscience maintenance, though.”

“You tried limiting your intake?”

“Yes, to feed without killing anyone.”

“They didn’t die,” I reason. “You aren’t murderers.”

“No, they didn’t die, but the experiment had setbacks. Taking small amounts of energy left an addiction arguably worse than death, an aggressive craving that can’t be satisfied.”

“How?”

“I don’t understand the mechanics of it. I just know if we take their energy, a piece of us is left behind. It fills the empty space, and it’s highly addictive. They immediately want more.” His regret is palpable. “None of us survived the transition with a clean conscience. We have hurt people.”

I release the arms of the chair, cupping his cheeks. “Who did you lose?”