That's what they always say, he thought. In Hell, there was nothing but the endless parade of human ugliness on display, nothing but broken promises and broken hopes. What makes you so special?

And what made him so special, that he could die, be brought back, fall from Heaven into Hell, be brought back again, and end up here where angels wanted to put him on his feet and set him loose? What had he done to deserve becoming a human wind-up toy without any direction or any support to hold on to? The answer was that he hadn't done anything, because the world wasn't fair, and good people bore burdens heavier than the worst people. And if angels didn't keep their promises, nobody else had to, certainly not strange faces he'd never met before.

Adam squeezed the bannister tight, tension rippling in his forearm. A shake of his head rebuffed her question before she could ask.

"Everybody I care about is dead." A pause. "So no."

The admission was a challenge in its own way, a test to see what kind of person he was dealing with.

With that said, not even Adam was sure if he was capable of answering her other question. Admitting that his life had come crashing down didn't take thought; he'd been locked in the Cage, and the wounds from that were on public display every second, every breath. But even so innocent a question as his own name brought him up short. He didn't know what he was was anymore, let alone who.

His reticence continued until it seemed unlikely he'd acknowledge what she'd asked, but he surprised himself by adding one more word into the mix: "Adam."

Hard to believe he'd been that person once. His old life felt like a story someone had read to him in a dream.