Timing is everything, they say, and by “they,” I mean some jackass who never had to stop a meteor from destroying Chicago while they were trying to chase down the person who blew up their brother. Here in the real world, though, that was exactly what I had to do, and I did it in the manner of my generation, griping mentally about my ordeal the entire time. “I can’t just kill Andrew Phillips,” I said, not even close to audible as the force of air rushing past my face mushed my cheeks like the sweet and plump aunt I’d never had. Mine was a psycho, full stop, and any pinching of cheeks on her part would probably have been the kind that would break skin. Could, Wolfe said, saying the same shit he’d been spouting for weeks now. Should. It would not be difficult, Bjorn said. You have done it to others for less. “What?” I almost dropped out of the sky from outrage at that one. How dare the crazed Nordic psycho impugn my reputation.
