, , - !
“Like what?”
The Weeper was beautiful. That was the first shock. All his life he had imagined horrors—rotting flesh, hollow skulls, nightmares stitched together from graveyard dirt. But the thing before him was lovely. High cheekbones. Skin like spilled moonlight. Eyes the color of drowned stars.
“Like I’m still human.”
“Hello?” The word slipped out before Zaviel could stop it.
“I know,” Zaviel said. And for the first time in twenty-three years, he saw . zaviel
Those eyes widened. The hand inside his chest stopped pulling.
“You’re not searching for victims,” Zaviel said softly. “You’re searching for forgiveness.” “Like what
Zaviel’s heart hammered. Trick , his mind screamed. The Weepers mimic voices. You know this. You’ve always known this.