The back door slammed. The sound was a gunshot in the 3 AM silence of the house.
Anah was in the kitchen. She was always in the kitchen. She was sitting at the table, a single, pale candle burning, a mug of her black, bitter tea steaming in her hands.
She didn't look up. She had been waiting.
"You... you can't... be... here, child," she said, her voice a low, tired, gravelly rumble. "It... it... it's not... safe... for... you."
"I... I... I don't... care," Ruth said. Her voice was shaking, but it was furious. She was still holding Bruce's hand, her grip a bruising, desperate, real thing. "We... we... we're done... hiding. We're... done... being... lied... to."
Bruce stepped forward, out of the mudroom, into the flickering, dim, wrong light of the kitchen. He was cold, he was wet, he was terrified... and he was, for the first time, furious.
"What... am... I?" he demanded. His voice was a low, shaking, dangerous thing. "You... you... you knew. My... my whole... life. You... knew. The... the... the hum! The... the... the nightmares! The... the... the mark!"
He slammed his hand—his right hand, his human hand—on the table. The candle flame jumped. The tea in Anah's mug sloshed.
"Go... to... bed, Bruce," Anah said, her voice a low, warning... growl. "You... do... not... know... what... you... are... asking. You... do... not... want... this... truth."
"We... saw... the... wolf," Ruth blurted out, her voice high-pitched. "Or... he... did! And... and... and I... saw... the... car! We... we... we know... about... the... Hunters! The... the... the... heart-takers! We... we... we... know... they're... here!"
"They... are... here... for... HIM! Aren't... they?!" Bruce yelled, his voice finally, truly, breaking. "They... are... hunting... ME! AREN'T... THEY?!"
Anah's face... crumbled.
The Warden... the Oracle... the stone-faced... matriarch... she... was... gone.
In her place... was a... terrified... old... woman.
Her hand, the one holding the mug, was shaking. The tea... spilled... over the rim. She didn't seem to notice. Her eyes, wide and dark, filled... with... tears.
"You... you... you stupid..." she whispered, her voice a broken, grieving keening. "You... you... stupid... loud... glorious... children..."
She looked... past... Bruce. Past... Ruth.
"...you... have... no... idea... what... you... have... done."
"Tell us," Bruce whispered, the anger gone, replaced by a cold, hollow dread. "Tell us what I am."
Anah closed her eyes. A single tear tracked down the deep, river-like wrinkle on her cheek.
She opened her eyes. They were... broken.
"You... are... not... like... them, Bruce," she whispered, her gaze finding his. "You... are... not... human. Not... all... the... way. You... are... more. You... are... other."
She... took... a... shaking... breath.
"You... are... an... Immortal."
The word... it... it... it... hung... in... the... air. It... it... it... meant... nothing. It... it... it... meant... everything.
"I... I... I... don't... understand," Bruce said.
"They... don't... care... if... you... understand!" Anah hissed, her terror suddenly snapping back into a cold, hard fury. "They... don't... care... what... you... call... it! They... just... care... that... you... are... AWAKE!"
She slammed her own... fist... on... the... table. The... candle... snuffed... out.
The... kitchen... was... plunged... into... total... darkness, save... for... the... faint... grey... light... of... the... approaching... dawn.
"You... broadcast... your... power... from... that... parking... lot... like... a... ship's... horn," she... spat, her... voice... a... venomous... whisper... in... the... dark.
"And... they... are... coming... for... you."