Tiberius deflated almost immediately as she pulled away. He shouldn't have said it, even if she already knew or suspected. At least a moment ago he'd still had some level of deniability, though he couldn't have kept it up indefinitely. He'd need at least another six months, most likely, before he could attempt it again — if he was even willing to attempt it again. The only thing he had to show for his last six months of effort was a web of raw scars over his shoulders and upper back, and a ruined suit. He could have died, or gotten stuck in some sort of mongoloid half-man hybrid form. Was it worth the risk just to prove to her that he could do it?

Tiberius would have sworn he didn't care what she thought, and would have said as much to anyone — but there was something in the look she gave him, before she made her excuse and left, that hurt worse than the scars on his back.

He said nothing. There was a bad taste in his mouth.