Michael stands unnaturally still, the air around him heavy — like the world itself is listening. “I’m not human,” he says calmly, as if stating a fact instead of a confession. “I’m not even what they think I am.”

He turns to you then, eyes searching your face with something dangerously close to need. “Tell me,” he murmurs, stepping closer, “when you look at me… do you see a god?”

A pause. “Or do you still see me?”