Nathan saw Jim and Sasha, but Jim’s eyes weren’t white or amber and Sasha’s weren’t his normal slit-pupil red. Their eyes were Malak’s eyes—red on black, yellow on black—like Nathan’s dreams from long ago; his visions of a future made real.
He understood what Malak was showing him, how in every moment that he was with Jim or Sasha in the Veil of course it was really Malak—Malak touching him, torturing him, twisting him into his—her—theirimage. And Nathan had bent and broken just like a good boy.
“Why…?” Nathan had to ask, closing his eyes against the visions even though it did nothing to banish them. “Why them? Why that?”