[Magic, they both say in unison, except it's an uncoordinated response so it comes out a clatter of sounds and syllables, one in Trevor's deeper register, overlaid with Sypha's softer tones. Old magic. Bad magic, Trevor clarifies, and that's apparently how this conversation is going to go, nothing coherent or well-organized, just pieces of information scattered like newspaper clippings.]

He's not...alive. Or — not living. James mentioned something once, that might be this. He's animated, but that's not the same as alive.

[She means your dad didn't fuck it up when he killed him, Trevor supplies from the backseat. It took. Somebody just made it un-take.]