Page 98 of Victorious

“Right,” he said, “and then you can explain to the officer who pulls us over that you only look like a minor because you fell through the ice nine years ago and died, but it’s okay because you came back with the ability to resurrect other—”

“Yeah, yeah,” she cut him off, slapping her palm on the side of the truck to summon Dol.

They piled back into the pickup.

Mitch let her pick the station, but it didn’t matter. Syd curled in the passenger seat, her head full of bubbles and her cheeks red from the cold, and in minutes, she was asleep.

XVNOW. THEN.

6 MONTHS AGO

EON

DR. Gray’s life these days bore little resemblance to the one he had before his death. But Gabriel still liked things a certain way.

He still rose before six to run three miles, still took a cold five-minute shower, still drank an espresso in silence on the porch. For that brief stretch, between the first alarm and the last sip of coffee, he could pretend—if he wanted to—that Iris was in the bedroom, humming to herself as she got dressed. That Ian was burrowing beneath his navy comforter to steal a few more minutes of sleep.

But that was where he left them.

Where his old life ended.

And his work began.

He went inside and rinsed the empty cup before carrying out the remainder of his morning rituals, accompanied by a concerto, or sonata, or symphony. He dressed, and combed his hair, which seemed more salt than pepper every day, and took the stairs down to the street, where a black sedan sat idling.

His driver, Evanson, always five minutes early, because that was how he’d been instructed.

As the car ferried him out of Merit and down the flat stretch of interstate between the city and the compound, he flicked through the tablet in the seat pocket, checking on his patients, then his staff. Anything that might have transpired overnight. To make sure the engine of his work was running smoothly.

The car turned off, onto the unmarked roads surrounding EON, before arriving at the lot.

It was nearly empty.

These days, he kept most agents in the field. There was less need for guards on-site, with the patients all behaving. And they were.

To Gabriel’s pleasure—and, admittedly, relief—their resistance had been temporary. It proved harder on their minds than on his body, and in time, the rope than ran between Gabriel and each of them grew slack, their will eroding, their minds becoming pliable.

A handful had lasted longer, but most had weakened in a matter of weeks, and once they’d lost their hold, they lacked the strength to get it back again.

Now, only the newest subjects gave him any trouble.

The ones who hadn’t settled yet.

“Dr. Gray.” The front doors had parted and Helena Roy stood waiting just inside. She fell in step beside him.

In the hierarchies of titles, he supposed that director held seniority over doctor, but Gabriel preferred the latter—so he kept it.

“Helena,” he said, handing off the tablet from the car.

As he did his morning rounds, she took notes, transcribing his thoughts for later reference.

He’d considered dismissing the past director, after he’d converted the board. But she was a valuable source of EO and EON history, when he needed it. Besides, their stories were intertwined. Without her intercession, Gabriel would never have been invited into EON. At least, not as a therapist.

The least he could do was refrain from instructing her to drive into a tree.

Noah stood waiting outside Control, picking at a loose thread on his uniform.

It was fascinating, the minute differences, between an ordinary convert and an EO, even one so firmly under his control. The animation in his face, the agency with which he moved and spoke, his personality intact. Ironic, that in Gabriel’s hands, only the EOs remained human.