The silence in the abandoned subway station was like a physical thing.
It was a weight.
A presence.
It was filled with the ghosts of a hundred thousand forgotten commutes and the single, living ghost of Miles's past, who was now standing right in front of him.
Gideon Thorne.
"Foolishness?" Miles finally managed to say, the word coming out as a rough, quiet croak.
He had a million questions.
A million accusations.
A million pieces of a broken life that he wanted to demand this man put back together.
But that was the only word that came out.
Gideon's face was a mask of weary, stoic calm.
"Your father was a brilliant man, Miles," Gideon said, his voice a low, steady rumble that seemed to absorb the echoes of the vast, empty station.
"The most brilliant I ever knew."
"But he was an idealist."
"He believed that science could solve anything."
"He believed that the human soul could be quantified, codified, and improved."
