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“I want you to know,” she said as she began to fix sensors to his chest, “that I will never, ever forgive you for this.”
Yeah, Victor was soo wrong for that tbh.
Victor had simply been waiting for Syd to come home.
Eli didn’t need coffee, just as he didn’t need to eat or sleep, but some habits were psychological. The steaming mug was a small piece of change in a static world. A concession, a prop, but one that allowed him to pretend, if only for a moment, that he was still human.
Eli’s faith had faltered in that room. He had found Hell in that room. And the only sign of God was that, no matter what Haverty did, Eli continued to survive. Whether he wanted to or not.
And so did Victor. Eli saw him in the lab, watched him circle the table at Haverty’s back, slip in and out of Eli’s line of sight as he studied the doctor’s incisions.
ELI SAW VICTOR WHEN HE WAS SUFFERING AND IN PAIN. YOU CAN'T TELL ME THERE ISN'T SOMETHING THERE OKAY.
ONCE upon a time, when the marks on his back were still fresh, Eli told himself that he was growing wings.
That's actually really sad. It is interesting to me that Eli had such a bad experience with religion, yet held so tightly to it. Most people who have that kind of experience turn away from religion, from my experience.
Eli closed his eyes and drew up the image of his father lying broken at the bottom of the stairs. A shallow red pool spreading around the pastor’s head, like a halo, only in the dim basement the blood had looked black. His eyes wet, his mouth hinging open and closed.
The blood pooling like a halo is such a cool detail.
He had a winning smile and an easy laugh, and nobody knew about the scars on his back or the shadows in his past. Nobody knew that it was all an act, that none of it came naturally.
Poor Eli. I feel so bad for him.
But it was Victor who answered.
The fact that Eli is constantly seeing the "ghost" of Victor is doing something to me.
At the sound of Eli’s approach, the book fell away, revealing a slim face, wolfish blue eyes, and lank blond hair.
I love the imagery of Victor having wolfish eyes. He's constantly seen as the prey by some, when he's actually the hunter.
He was an inch or two taller than Eli, but all angles, edges.
He's sharp in a way that Eli isn't, which is super interesting.
Victor cocked his head in a lupine way
More wolfish imagery.
His eyes flicked up and Eli felt … exposed. It was unsettling, the way that pale gaze bored into him. Not curious so much as cutting.
It was maddening—Eli was so used to disarming people, coaxing them into feeding him emotional cues, giving him something to play against. But Victor showed no interest in playing.
Bro they are so perfect for one another.
“You never finish anything. Didn’t your parents teach you to eat your vegetables?” “No,” said Victor blandly, “they told me to tap into my inner psyche and realize the truths of my potential. Vegetables never really came up.” Angie shot Eli a conspiratorial glance. “Victor’s parents are self-help gurus.” “Victor’s parents,” said Victor, “are hacks.”
the more charming Eli tried to be, the less Victor responded to it. In fact, he seemed annoyed by the effort. As if Victor knew it was just that. An effort. A show. Eli found himself culling the unnecessary trappings, trimming his persona down to the essentials. And when he did that, Victor warmed. Turned toward Eli like a face toward a mirror. Like to like. It frightened and thrilled Eli, to be seen, and to see himself reflected. Not all of himself—they were still so different—but there was something vital, a core of the same precious metal glinting through the rock.
She was a living voodoo doll.
Okay, that power is fucking sick, I love it.
“How many will die for the sake of his pride?” mused Victor. Eli looked up and saw the phantom standing over him again. He shook his head. “Stell would rather let the city burn than admit that we are on the same side.” Victor stared at the wall as if it were still a window. “He doesn’t know how patient you are,” he said. “Doesn’t know you like I do.” Eli cleaned the blood from his hand. “No,” he said softly. “No one ever has.”
AAAAAAAAAAAH
MITCHELL Turner had a bad feeling.
Oh, that's definitely not what I wanted to hear.
Victor struck June as many things—pliable wasn’t one of them. If anything, he seemed to be rather intransigent, cold smoke to Marcella’s fire. But opposites attracted for a reason. Would it be such a bad thing?
“Sometimes it feels like I’m in a fight, and all I’ve got are my hands, and the other guy has a knife. But that guy with the knife, eventually he’s going to face someone with a gun. And the one with the gun is going to go up against someone with a bomb. The truth is, Syd, there will always be somebody stronger than you. That’s just the way the world works.”
And then Mitch grabbed his coat, and his keys, and went to save Victor.
God, I love Mitch, he's the ultimate ride or die friend.
The soldier fought his hold, even as he forced her hand to turn the cattle prod back on herself. Her eyes narrowed in concentration as her will warred with his, but Eli was loose, and Sydney was lost, and those two things made Victor immovable.
FOR five years, Victor Vale had lived in Eli’s head.
God, they are so obsessed with each other.
“When this is over,” said Victor, “you and I are going to have words.”
Victor does NOT like being told what to do.
“You go ahead,” he said tightly. “No,” said Sydney. “We’re not splitting up.” Victor turned and, cringing, knelt in front of her. “There’s something I have to do.” Sydney was already shaking her head, but Victor reached out and put a hand on her cheek, the gesture so strange, so gentle, it stopped her cold. “Syd,” he said, “look at me.” She met his eyes. Those eyes that after everything still felt like family, like safety, like home. “I have to do this. But I’ll meet you as soon as I’m done.” “Where?” “Where I first found you.”
He's such a liar...
