Simon’s eyes widen, his face momentarily frozen in a neutral, pleasant expression, a defense mechanism he learned years ago.
“You don’t,” he says, finally, actually breathing out a little laugh. His tone is conversational, like they’re talking about the weather. “You don’t keep them at bay. How can you? If you could, they wouldn’t be monsters. They’d be inconveniences. With monsters, I think-- Well, I think once they have your scent, once they’re after you... If you don’t want to just let them hurt you and hurt others, you have to destroy them. Or, I guess, be destroyed.” He casts his eyes down. “I guess that’s a little dramatic, but. I think it’s true.”