Frankenstein’s monster, sitting side-by-side with a vampire. The opening lines of a joke in some cultures, no doubt. This one lacks a punchline, and that’s the humor of it, perhaps— how funny, that such anomalies can also be so helpless.

The mist outside of their windows recedes, and verdant canopies are replaced by the familiar outline of water. There’s no escape, once they reach this point above the earth and into the horizon. What waits for them is ocean, and a haven outside of heaven.

Venom wipes his tongue over his lip while Eli finds her words. For once, he doesn’t taste the blood that’s meant to be there.

“If.” The hypothetical is tossed back into Eli’s lap. “That’s not my issue with you.”

Issue, he says, and he realizes the accusatory nature of that term. His nose wrinkles, wolfish in his contemplation.

“You’re thinking about me in a way that won’t help you.”