The moon had shifted fourteen degrees in the sky overhead by the time he stopped. The horrors he'd done in his centuries-long life had burrowed into her vibrant imagination and sprung to life. She relived each of his memories as he told them, filling in the details from past explanations, and feeling each of the transgressions as if they were her own. She was past sick by the time he fell silent, but she didn't relinquish the iron hold she had on herself. There would be no relief here.
Leeloo imagined that if the great evil ever chose ambassadors, Aidan and his kind would suit.
At last, she stepped backwards, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. She knew she couldn't kill him, now. Her other self probably hadn't known. But yet, Leeloo was unafraid. She knew that Aidan had no chance against Peter, and angry with him as she was, she still knew with a core certainty that he would never allow her to be harmed. That Peter had allowed the other Leeloo to die at all was a mystery. And yet, she knew that he couldn't have known.
She also knew that if she called Peter he would come. And if she told him to kill Aidan Waite, he would do it.