. . .

“I don’t want to cause a time paradox,” Lucy says, reflexively acting as Devil’s advocate. “That’s not kosher.”

“I killed her,” he says.

“What?”

“I killed Maria,” Tom lies. “Your sister Maria. I slaughtered her with science. She wasn’t even doing anything mean. I just woke up and thought, ‘you know, I’ll kill my nanny now. Because I’m an evil snake-person and I ought to die.’”

“You?” Lucy laughs.

She drags herself up.

“Don’t make me laugh,” she says. “My throat hurts. You didn’t kill Maria. It was — that golden-face. Or some . . . unsavory interest. Or a giant wolf or an evil storm. It wasn’t you.”

“It was me,” says Tom. “I was too consumed by my self-loathing. I didn’t want to be an ophidian world-inheritor any longer. So I sabotaged her space gun. It blew up. I lived. She died. End of story.”

Lucy’s face twists.

“I’m ready to face my punishment,” says Tom. “Like gold-face there. Just . . . just end it.”

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