"I'm sorry," he said, overcoming the urge to shove aside the conversation in favor of something less serious and terrifying.

What the hell story had he been told as a child, anyway? Wasn't Peter just mischievous? A little scamp in tights who could fly? Since when did he murder people. He had to be wrong about this. There was no way this was the same story.

"My dad's dead," he blurted, "I mean, it was just cancer, nobody killed him, but, um. It sucks. I mean, I know it's... You know."