Ada crumpled over, the settee catching her fall.
"Thanks, Dad. She was ready to fry me."
Moretz hung back from approaching his daughter, as if he were afraid she might wake up and finish what she started. Two more tugs, and he removed the pen from his leg.
He flinched, then went on speaking. "You know, I heard you and grandpa talking once. Before you left home for good, of course. You talked about how mental illness is like a curse that comes with this gift." Moretz tossed the pen across the room. "With how much of a shit-show Ada is, I believe it."
Kressick knelt to assess Ada's condition. No bumps or cuts from the fall, thank goodness. She had already been through enough with the re-wiring and subsequent after-effects. Though he had absolved her of violent tendencies, it was clear he hadn't cleansed the need entirely. He righted her body and put a pillow beneath her head.
To the small hole in Moretz's leg, he gave a curt nod. "It'll heal." Moretz sputtered over the dismissal, and Kressick pretended he didn't hear it by adding, "She wasn't wrong. The disaster was partly your fault, and mine. We could have told her she was a time bomb— readied her with purge rituals."
Moretz got down on his uninjured leg to look his father in the eye. "Who does she remind you of?"
"You know exactly who she reminds me of," he replied slowly, unaccustomed to the savage intensity emanating from his son.
Moretz put a hand on Kressick's shoulder, grunting from the pressure put on his other leg to rise. He looked down on both of them as he spoke.
"Then don't ever let her fucking hear you say any of that."