"I'm not going to kill you," he says. "Though I have to say, it's a disappointing end to my stay here--death by firstborn plague."

He smiles, the literal light in his eyes casting patterns over his cheekbones like a flashlight held at an odd angle. "Perhaps we'll die together. Fill the end with a bit more romance."

He might be joking. He probably is. But the way he says it couldn't be more sincere. "Two firstborn schemers, locked in the game until their last moments."