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“He’s small,” Cass says. She’s seen babies before, but it’s different, holding one. He’s pink, soft. Delicate.
“I know,” Jean-Paul says. He hasn’t looked away from her, from the baby. “I’m almost afraid I’ll break him.”
He’s still afraid, Cass sees. “You’re good,” she says. “You won’t.”
He laughs; it’s not real. “My father was Azrael. He made me into him. What if I can’t help doing the same?”
They are both weapons, forged by fathers. The baby is so small. How small was Cass, when Cain started with her? She can’t remember.
“No,” she decides. “I won’t let you.”