Chapter 15

  My whole life, it’s always been me and my dad.

  My mom died before I was born. My father always told me she didn’t die in labor — but he never told me what actually killed her. And now you’re telling me Thomas lied to my face for years… and that I had a cousin he knew about?

  What else was a lie? My whole life suddenly looks like one big lie.

  I look at Selena more closely. I can see it now — we do look similar. Nathan once said we had a resemblance, but I brushed it off as coincidence. I mean, how many half–Russian Asians could there really be?

  But staring at her now… I still don’t want to believe it.

  “I don’t want to be rude,” I say slowly, “but there’s no way I had a cousin and my father didn’t tell me about it. Why wouldn’t he tell me something that important?”

  Brook exhales before answering.

  “I’m sure Thomas had his reasons. And honestly… you should be asking Selena that. I don’t feel qualified to weigh in.”

  I glance toward her, but she’s still silent — that same cold stare locked onto me.

  Selena finally breaks the silence.

  “What is everybody so ruffled about? Me and this kid having some shared blood doesn’t suddenly make us family. It’s not that deep — and it’s not what’s actually important right now.”

  Her words irritate me more than I expect.

  “So what is important?” I snap. Ever since the car ride, her attitude has been rubbing me the wrong way.

  Selena turns sharply toward Brook.

  “You want to know what’s really important? Thomas. Brook, I’m done wasting time giving this kid a recap when you still haven’t told us what happened to him. How did he die? Who killed him? And what the hell are we doing about it?”

  She’s right. With everything being thrown at me, I almost forgot — Brook has been dancing around that question since we walked in.

  Selena’s eyes burn with rage.

  “Who was it, Brook? The elites? The Slum Dogs? Who pointed their weapons at us — and who are we going to kill for this? I already have a team on standby. Just tell me where to go and I’ll handle it.”

  Brook slams his hand on the desk.

  “Whoa — calm down, Selena. Who authorized that team? Because it sure as hell wasn’t me.”

  He glares at her.

  “You’re not in charge here, and Thomas wouldn’t want that.”

  Selena steps closer, chest to chest with Brook now, eyes locked onto his. The tension in the room is suffocating.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Bullshit,” she snaps. “If it were you lying dead somewhere, Thomas would’ve been the first one out there hunting. Don’t talk to me like I didn’t know him.”

  She pokes him in the chest.

  “And what do you mean ‘in charge’? Who’s supposed to be in charge — this kid?” She gestures toward me without even looking. “I’m not listening to him.”

  Brook’s voice drops — colder, heavier.

  “Nobody asked you to listen to the kid. You’re listening to me.”

  He steps forward, not backing down.

  “If you want to run out there, start burning bridges, and kick off a war — go ahead. But you won’t have the support of this family. Because that’s what we are: a family, with or without Thomas.”

  His voice cracks, just barely.

  “And don’t think for a second I don’t want justice. They butchered my best friend. Bled him dry. Flesh ripped off — like he was nothing.”

  His jaw tightens.

  “You didn’t see it. I did. So don’t sit there and call me a pacifist.”

  He takes a breath, steadying himself.

  “We don’t know who did this. We don’t know why. Maybe a war is exactly what they want — and I’m not in the business of giving my enemies what they want.”

  “Still, Brook, we need to send a message—”

  I might have heard him wrong.

  Did he just say butchered and bled?

  What happened to my dad?

  Brook and Selena keep arguing about what to do next, but I can’t even hear them anymore. My body betrays me. I want to scream — I want to yell — but everything just goes silent.

  My ears ring. They grow hot. So hot I think I might be burning.

  An image forces its way into my mind a brutal, shattered version of my father. Bloody and in pain. It doesn’t feel like witnessing an injury; it feels like watching a symbol fall. My stomach twists painfully.

  I can almost smell iron in my lungs. Flashes of my father’s face in the morning flood me: him serious, him laughing, him joking and then interrupted by a face I’ve never seen, twisted in pain. I can almost feel how hot his body would be.

  Selena’s voice suddenly breaks through the haze.

  “It doesn’t matter who dies, as long as Justice is paid for what they did to Thomas!”

  That snaps me back to reality.

  I know exactly what she means… but I also know that isn’t my dad. Even if I didn’t know him as well as I thought, even if there are sides of him I never saw — he wouldn’t burn everything to the ground for raw emotion.

  I step forward.

  Their voices blur together, sharp and useless, crashing over me like a storm I can’t breathe through. The room feels smaller, hotter, like the walls are slowly closing in.

  I realize, with a sudden, brutal clarity, that if I don’t stop this right now, they’re going to tear each other apart — and whatever is left of my father’s legacy with them.

  “Shut up — both of you!”

  My voice echoes through the room.

  “Is your arguing going to bring my father back? If yes, keep going. If not — then shut the fuck up.”

  They both freeze.

  I look at Brook.

  “…Did they really do that to him?”

  My throat tightens, but I push through.

  “Did they torture him?”

  Brook looks down, pained, ashamed.

  “No,” he says quietly. “They didn’t torture him… but he suffered.”

  The room falls silent — or at least, it does outwardly. Inside my head, it’s anything but quiet, loud with thoughts and half-formed cries I can’t let out.

  The word hangs in the air like a blade.

  Suffered.

  Somehow, it feels worse than if he had just said yes. My mind begins to fill the silence with things I don’t want to see — my father hurt, alone, calling for help that never came. I picture him not as the untouchable man I grew up with, but as something fragile… something breakable.

  Selena, who moments ago looked like fire, now looks cold — hurt — almost hollow. And for a moment, I feel like she’s hurting even more than I am… and that hurts me too.

  I take a breath.

  “I don’t know what the right thing is. I don’t want to lie.”

  My voice is heavy.

  “But let’s not make decisions that send more of us to the grave. I don’t think that’s what my father would want.”

  I glance between them.

  “I don’t think Brook is wrong… but I don’t completely disagree with Selena either. I want Justice for what happened to my father — but I don’t think we can handle more death right now.”

  I swallow.

  “So please… let’s calm down.”

  I say it with a heavy heart — half believing my own words, half feeling like a hypocrite… because deep down, a part of me knows Selena’s way feels right.