Wolfen looked into her eyes. Not at her. Into her. Past the sneer, past the violence, past the walls she'd built over years of being whatever the world needed her to be.
"What would you do," he said, "after you keep killing for fun? After a hundred years pass by—would the thrill be the same? Would the fun stay the same? Would it matter?"
Jet's eyes narrowed. Her fingers stopped tapping. "What are you trying to say?"
"Nothing. I'm asking a question."
"You're trying to manipulate me."
"Manipulate?" Wolfen's eyebrows rose. "No. I haven't manipulated anyone in a long time. Actually—" He paused, reconsidered. "That's wrong. I'm not trying to manipulate you. If I wanted to, I would have." He leaned back. "I'm just asking what you'd do later."
Jet's jaw tightened. "What's your point?"
"Why do you hate Ava?"
The question landed like a stone in still water. Jet's expression flickered—just for a second—before the mask snapped back into place.
"She's weak. Useless."
"Sure." Wolfen nodded slowly. "She's weak. Soft. Fragile. A crybaby. Not confident. You're the opposite—confident, brave, strong, not a crybaby." He paused. "But there's something you both have in common."
Jet didn't answer. Her eyes were fixed on him, unblinking.
"You both loved Lily."
Jet snapped.
She was on her feet in an instant, the chair clattering backward, her hands flat on the table, her face inches from Wolfen's. Her breathing was fast. Her eyes were wild.
"Careful." Wolfen didn't move. "There are people outside who really, really want to rip you apart. I don't want that. So let's try to be less violent."
He stood up slowly. Walked around the table. Picked up her chair. Set it back in place. Sat down again.
Jet stood over him, breathing hard, her fists clenched.
"What are you trying to do?"
"You never truly hated Lily." Wolfen's voice was calm. Quiet. "If you did, you would have killed her long ago. Before the Architects. And if I'm not wrong—" He looked up at her. "You killed Lily on accident. Didn't you?"
"Shut up."
"Your mental state is bad. Really bad. Ava's too. She'll never accept you. She'll always hate you. Nothing will change that without evidence. She'll always think you killed Lily and enjoyed it."
"SHUT UP." Jet's voice cracked. "JUST SHUT UP."
"I think you—"
"No." She pointed at him, her hand shaking. "You don't know a single fucking thing."
"You're right." Wolfen spread his hands. "I don't know a single thing. But neither do you. You don't know how you killed Lily. Do you? It was all blurry."
"Stop it."
"When you were in control—"
"SHUT UP."
"—you weren't in full control, were you?"
"No."
Jet's voice was smaller now. Her hands were on her head, fingers digging into her scalp.
"No."
"You didn't know anything. The hunger was taking over. You saw Lily—not fully, but you saw her. And you thought: food. Then you were on the floor. Eating her. Ripping her apart." Wolfen's voice was soft. Almost gentle. "And you were happy about it. Weren't you? That's why you wrote it on the wall. Happy that Ava had given you food."
"SHUT UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP."
Jet was shaking now—her whole body, her hands, her breath. Her nails drew blood from her scalp.
Wolfen stood. Walked to the door. Opened it.
"Okay. Come in."
Eva stood in the hallway, her face confused, her hands hanging at her sides. She stepped into the room and saw Jet—shaking, bleeding, falling apart. She moved to her without thinking, grabbing her shoulders, lowering her into the chair.
Maya came in behind her. Warden stayed in the hallway, watching through the window.
Wolfen walked past them, toward the exit.
Maya grabbed his arm. "Was any of that true? How did you know?"
Wolfen paused. Looked back at Jet, curled in the chair, Eva's arms around her.
"Guessing and expirence," he said. "From what I heard Ava say. Some of it's probably true."
He pulled his arm free and walked out, leaving Eva and Maya in the room, stwords.after him, trying to understand how a man could tear someone apart with nothing but words.