Clarke sighed deeply and then crossed his arms. "So, that's how you treat a brother you have known for years, Charles. Come on, man."Charles stood blanketed in stoic demeanor still, the frown on his face deepening. "What are you driving at, Clarke? You and I both know where this is heading."She stepped closer and bent down toward him, her voice suddenly intensely serious. "Who took you in, then? Where was it you ran to when you had no place to go?"Charles's eyes did not widen as the answer struck him; he knew it as well as Clarke. His lips tightened, shutting his response in.She dared to push it further. "Where did you stay when you had none?Charles finally spoke, reluctance in his voice. "You did, Clarke. You were there."Clarke nodded, but bitterness lined his eyes. "Who made you his brother when you had nobody?" he asked.Charles's expression sagged a little, but he said sullenly, "You did."The air was heavy with tension as the two men stood there, eyeing each other. Charles
Victor lay on the hard, narrow cot, his eyes fixed on the ceiling of his prison cell. The thin blanket was threadbare and provided scant comfort against the biting chill of the night. The buzzing of mosquitoes supplied a steady background hum that prevented him from sliding into the sleep he so desperately needed. He swatted at one that landed on his arm but knew it was useless. They had always come back, always found a way to harass him.But the mosquitoes were not the only things that kept him awake tonight. Tomorrow was the day he had been waiting for—the day that finally he would be free. Years of incarceration, and the thought of freedom washed him in a wave of happiness, even in that restless night. With a happy sigh, a rare smile curled at the corners of his mouth. He closed his eyes, trying to picture what it would look like outside of those walls: not having to feel the cold concrete beneath him or the bars that kept him enclosed.The sounds of the prison at night were famili
Stephen gasped at the sound of his ragged breathing as his mind raced to wrap itself around what had just happened. Scene in front of him was a nightmare from which he could not wake up. Victor lay lifeless on the cold floor, his once-gray concrete now turned into a deep, sickened red, blood pooling around his lifeless body, from where the wound bled. It twisted something deep inside him that he was not sure would ever right again.Charles stood there, a ghost of the man Stephen thought he knew, his face pale and his eyes hollow. His hand shook a little as he raised it, as if to try to convey an apology without words, but Stephen was not looking for an apology. He wanted answers—answers that might never come."Yuna is fine," all but whispered Charles— hushed, almost too hushed, to the point where this was the kind of hush that tried to soothe but only made matters worse. "She's safe with me."Stephen's eyes narrowed as he tried to take in the words. A cold dread tightened in his chest
The air was thick with tension as the police swarmed the room, their movements precise and practiced. One officer approached Charles cautiously, gun trained on him, while another swiftly retrieved the bloodied knife from the floor, bagging it as evidence. Charles barely resisted as they forced him to the ground, cold metal cuffs clicking around his wrists. His face remained a mask of resignation, a broken man caught in a nightmare of his own making.Stephen stood frozen, shock and disbelief still coursing through him. His mind struggled to process everything—Victor’s lifeless body, Charles’s betrayal, the arrival of the police. It all felt like a blur. An officer stepped toward him, speaking in firm, clipped tones, but Stephen barely registered the words. He didn’t resist when they cuffed him, his eyes locked on Victor’s body as the paramedics zipped it into a black body bag.As the body was wheeled out, Stephen felt a hollow ache in his chest. Victor had been his last connection to t
Stephen stared across at Clarke, who sat with his crossed legs and a face that was difficult to read. Clarke's fingers tapped lightly on the arm of his chair, waiting; his eyes fixed on Stephen."You still haven't told me what you want," Stephen said. His voice was firm, though a lot happened within him. He yet had things to sort out, depending on what to rectify first. These were obligations he could not back down upon—the promise he made."I've got a debt to settle," his mind flashed back upon making the promise. "But you want to get rid of the girl, Yuna? Why?"Clarke's lips curled in a smile that slowly widened. "It's not about hurting her, now, is it. Question is, where is she now? Ask your wife, Marriane."Stephen's heart fluttered. "What does Marriane have to do with this? Did she. did she order Yuna to be killed?"The smile broadened on Clarke's face, but he said no more, leaving Stephen's question to hang in the air like a knife. The room seemed to close in on him as Stephen
The footsteps upstairs became louder, and Charles began to pound. The officers coiled, poised to pounce. Out from one of the darkened corners, a small black cat emerged. Its eyes glinted as it slinked down the stairs, and at that moment, the tension in the room broke like a dam as relieved glances passed from one officer to another. "It's just the cat," one mumbled, the edge in his voice softening as he sheathed his weapon. A second officer, edging his way along the wall toward the staircase, relaxed his posture, a grin tugging at his lips. That was the opening Charles needed to force a nonchalant shrug. "What did I tell you? She isn't here," he said, keeping his tone steady, though inside, a flood of relief crashed through him. Yuna was safe, at least for now. "Fine. But we're taking you outside. If we find out you've been lying…" He pushed roughly at Charles's back toward the door, leaving the threat hanging. They were all leaving the mansion, when one officer—a younger, more
**Two Weeks Later**The darkness smothered the cell, weight upon weight, and pressed down on Stephen lying on the cold, damp floor. The suit, once so sharp, hung in rags from his now-gaunt frame. His stomach rumbled with hunger, but he gave no heed to the feeling—he hadn't eaten for days. Yesterday's tray of food sat untouched, just like the ones that had preceded it.The door creaked, and a line of poor light sliced through the darkness. A dark figure moved in, slinging down another tray of food onto the floor, spilling it inches from Stephen's feet."Eat up, you loser," the man mocked in an abusive tone. He sniggered wickedly at him as he slammed the door shut behind his back; the noise resounded around the cell.Stephen groaned, trying to heave himself up, his muscles protesting the unaccustomed exercise. Pain shot through his body, but gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright. The darkness seemed more oppressive than ever as he finally managed to stand, swaying slightly, prop
With each ever-nearing step to Yuna, Ariane's heart pounded so hard, and her mind swirled so quickly in confusion and disbelief, "Yuna," she hissed lowly, glaringly, "where you are doing this from?"In the morning light, the slight form of Yuna appeared even more delicate; her clothes looked as if they belonged to someone else, hanging on a person who was not there. Yet there was something in her eyes that was resolute: a quiet, unyielding strength, really not in keeping with her frail look. "I need your help, Ariane," said Yuna, her voice firm but shaking.Ariane almost laughed; the sound that passed her lips was harsh and unbelieving. "Why would I help you?" she demanded, scathing now, in her bitterness. "You're just a dirty little thing—always in the way. Why do you keep coming back?"Yuna winced at the jab, but she didn't retreat. Her eyes clung to Ariane's, desperation in their intensity. "I have to talk to Mrs. Marriane," she persisted, her voice a little more steady now, though