Even after four years of consuming nothing but information on them, secretly longing to touch them, we still refused to acknowledge the soul-deep ache we felt to own them, and prioritized the mission.
But now they are ours.
And we protect what’s ours.
“What do you need, my son?” Father’s voice snaps me back into the room.
Not turning to look at him, I replace the poker in the stand, and rest my hand on the mantle, staring down at the flames as he approaches. He stops next to me, and I feel his eyes moving over the side of my face. Part of me expects a lecture on how I broke an order, left telling no one, but he’s already made his point by brutalizing Delilah and threatening Striker.
We defy him; he hurts one of us. That is how Fallon has always worked. Harsh punishments ensure no repeat behavior. Yet we still follow him, still want his approval, still crave the sprinkling of affection he hands out now and then, when we least expect it.
Like when a seven-year-old boy needs vengeance.
That’s the only thing that helped me survive him. Survive the lashings, solitary, the cruel room to break us down as young boys that left scars etched into Striker’s skin. How he beat our loyalty into us, only ever giving a fraction of it in return.
But knowing that Delilah endured the same fear, that she was so scared she stabbed a man, replays in my head over and over. All because Fallon didn’t see what lived inside 57.
Just like he had been fucking blind to what was happening right under his roof all those years ago.
“Did you know?” I say, not looking at him.
His sigh scrapes against my nerves. “Clarify, son, my patience is thin.”
“Cook.”
I sense him tense, sense his entire demeanor shift, becoming colder.
“No.” One syllable. Clinical. Dismissive. Like my question doesn’t warrant his time or energy.
Or a fucking explanation.
“How?” The word rips from my throat as I face him. “How the fuck did you not know?”
Father’s shoulders tense. I wonder if he’s remembering the day he found Cook mutilated. The day he realized what kind of monster he’d let live under his roof.
“You never told me,” he says, but the icy edge has disappeared from his tone.
My chest constricts so tightly I can barely breathe. I didn’t tell him because I couldn’t. I was just a scared boy whose only father he’d ever known, constantly doubted him. Told him he was full of sin, just like Headmistress Isla.
I press my fingers to my temple, rubbing at the throbbing ache. “You were constantly questioning me. Lecturing me. Reminding me how disappointing I was for looking at men.” My hand grips the mantle, the urge to shake him nearly owning me. “You saw something there, something wrong, yet you blamed me. You never questioned Cook. You questioned me—the damaged boy who had already been perverted.”
“I trusted him,” Father snaps. “The man had no record, no prior history, and he took an interest in all of you. Your wellbeing, your training. He—” His jaw works like he’s chewing glass. The same expression I witnessed the day I was named flashes across his face, reminding me that somewhere, deep down, lives the man who might actually give a shit about us. “You never told me.”
“How could I when my brothers were being threatened if I talked?”
Father rears back, blinking, then clears his throat. “If I had known what he was doing, that he was threatening my sons, I would have stopped it.”
“Would you?” My rage suddenly drains, leaving me cold. Empty. “Would you have lectured him like you did me? Or would you have taken care of it like you did before?”
Fallon shoves his hands in his pockets, and rocks back on his heels but remains silent.
“You burned the orphanage down,” I say.
The silence stretches. I can practically see him sorting through his lies, deciding which version I deserve. The one in that small village paper or the actual truth.
Fallon sighs. “It was a difficult order, but they followed through. It was taken care of.”
I shove away from the mantle, raking fingers through my hair hard enough my nails scrape my scalp. The fact Father just admitted it is not nearly as shocking as what he just said.
