“Are the headaches a result of your genetic mods?” I ask, then step back. “I’m sorry. If you don’t wanna talk about it…”
“I don’t mind.” He looks up at me with a funny little grin. “And yes. Though the headaches are the least worrying side effect of the genetic manipulation.”
I swallow hard, wondering if I dare push him for more information.
“I can’t think of anything more cruel than to purposefully change something so fundamental about your life.”
He adjusts one of the pictures on the wall. “From what I understand, Blake’s cruelty knew no limits. He paid for all kinds of experiments. This was relatively mild in comparison.”
“Why do you think they kept the lab going after he died?” I ask, puzzling over the timeline. “I mean, aren’t you my age? I was born, like, five years after my dad killed him.”
I grimace, but Sy again waves off my concern. My dadkilling his sperm donor thankfully doesn’t rate all that high on the scale of shit that’s fucked up about this situation.
“From what Jake can tell, he funded years’ worth of experiments anonymously, so they didn’t know he died. They just kept at it until the funding dried up.” Sy rolled his eyes. “He apparently gave them hundreds of samples of his sperm.”
“What an egomaniac.”
“That your official diagnosis?”
“Pretty much.”
Silas reaches out and touches my arm. I startle.
He steps away.
“Sorry,” I say, rushing to apologize. I should be keeping a clinical distance, but I can’t.
“It’s okay. I know I scare people.”
“Absolutely not,” I insist, desperate for him to believe me. “I’ve already told you. You do not scare me. It’s just… You deserved better.”
Sy shoves his hands into his pockets. “Also, we don’t know how old I am. The scientist destroyed a lot of my findings.”
I blink at that. “So you could be older than me. Or younger.”
He lifts a shoulder. “Jake suspects there were other labs.”
“So maybe he destroyed your results so the other labs…”
“…couldn’t recreate a monster,” he finishes.
I shake my head. I’m not letting that stand for even a second. “Stop calling yourself that.”
He gives a soft snort.
“What?” I ask, leaning to press my shoulder to his. “What’s so funny?”
“I don’t meanmonsterin a bad way.”
I lift my brow at him.
He pushes out his hands. “Or maybe I do, but that’s my right. People get to reclaim the words used against them.”
“So, you’re defanging the monster.”
“Basically.” He grins. “I bet Icouldscare you though.”
I bite the inside of my lip and consider for a moment any number of clinical questions I could ask him.
