Chapter 36: QUESTIONS WITHOUT ANSWERS
The paper cut happens during routine filing. Deep slice across my palm from a folder edge. Blood wells up immediately.
"Shit." I grab tissues. Press them to the wound. Blood soaks through.
"You okay?" Siobhan asks from her desk.
"Yeah. Just a cut. Deep one."
She brings me the first aid kit. I clean the wound, apply pressure. It's a solid cut—will need a bandage at minimum. Maybe a stitch.
"Want me to drive you to the clinic?" she offers.
"For a paper cut? I'm fine."
I wrap gauze around my palm. Secure it with tape. The bleeding slows. Stops.
Twenty minutes later, I'm writing reports. The gauze feels uncomfortable. Unnecessary.
I unwrap it to check. The cut is a pink line. Barely visible. Nearly healed.
My regeneration kicked in. Faster than it should for something this minor. Phase 2 working overtime.
I don't notice Siobhan watching until she speaks.
"Ben."
I look up. Her eyes are on my hand.
"Yeah?"
"That cut. Twenty minutes ago, you were bleeding through tissues."
I close my fist. "It wasn't as deep as it looked."
"I saw it. It was deep." She stands. Crosses to my desk. "Can I see your hand?"
I could refuse. Should refuse. But refusing makes it worse.
I open my palm. The pink line is fading. In another hour, it'll be gone completely.
Siobhan stares at it. Processing.
"During the assault," she says quietly, "I saw wounds on you that should have been fatal. Gunshots. Stab wounds. The next morning, you were walking. Scars where holes had been."
I don't deny it. Denials would insult her intelligence.
"And now this." She touches my palm. Gentle. Clinical. "A cut that should take days to heal is almost gone in minutes."
"Siobhan—"
"I'm not asking you to explain. Not yet." She meets my eyes. "But I need to know—are you a threat? To me? To this town? To the people we protect?"
"No."
"Can you promise that?"
I think about the wolf. About Violence Mastery. About killing twenty men in one night. About becoming something less human.
But I also think about protecting Banshee. About defending people who don't know my name. About the badge and what it's supposed to mean.
"I'm not a threat to you," I say. "Or to Banshee. Or to anyone who doesn't threaten what I protect."
She considers this. Long moment. Weighing.
"Okay," she finally says. "I believe you."
"Just like that?"
"Not just like that. I've worked with you for weeks. Seen you defend people. Solve crimes. Risk yourself for others." She sits on the edge of my desk. "Whatever you are—you've proven who you choose to be."
The distinction matters. What versus who.
"Thank you," I say.
"Don't thank me yet. I still have questions. Lots of them." She almost smiles. "But I can wait for answers. As long as you promise to give them eventually."
"I don't fully understand it myself."
"Then we'll figure it out together." She returns to her desk. "When you're ready."
The conversation ends. Work resumes. But something has shifted.
Someone knows I'm not normal and didn't run. Didn't demand immediate answers. Just... waited.
Trust. Or the beginning of it.
At lunch, we go to the diner. Our usual booth. Siobhan orders a burger. I get the sandwich special.
"Can I ask one thing?" she says. "Not about what you are. About who."
"Sure."
"That night at the bar. When you fought all those men. When you nearly died." She traces the rim of her coffee cup. "Were you scared?"
I think about it. Honest answer.
"No. I was... focused. Clear. The wolf doesn't feel fear during the hunt."
"The wolf?"
I pause. Didn't mean to say that. But it's out now.
"That's what I call it. The part of me that fights. That hunts. That doesn't stop."
"And the rest of you?"
"Trying to figure out how to be both."
She nods. Understanding without judging.
"I think," she says carefully, "that being both is what makes you not a monster."
"How do you figure?"
"Monsters don't question what they are. Don't worry about protecting people. Don't make bad coffee at the station and pretend it's drinkable." She smiles. "Monsters don't have partners. They have victims."
It's a generous interpretation. Maybe too generous.
But I want to believe it.
Our food arrives. We eat in comfortable silence. The kind you can only have with people who understand you don't need to fill every moment with words.
Her hand brushes mine across the table. Brief. Deliberate. Acknowledgment.
I see you're something impossible. I'm staying anyway.
Walking back to the station, I feel lighter. Not absolved. Understood.
Someone knows I'm not normal and chose patience over fear.
In a life full of lies, that feels like truth.
"Ben?" Siobhan says as we reach the station door.
"Yeah?"
"When you're ready to explain—I mean really explain—I want to hear it. All of it. No matter how strange."
"It's going to sound insane."
"Good. I like insane." She pulls open the door. "Boring is overrated."
I almost laugh. Almost.
Inside, Lucas is waiting. His expression is serious. Urgent.
"We have a situation," he says. "Proctor called. He has intel on Rabbit's organization. Wants to meet. Both of us."
The normalcy shatters. The wolf wakes up.
Always another threat. Always another fight.
But now, walking into it, I have something different.
Someone who knows what I am and didn't run.
It's not much.
But maybe it's enough.
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