Byron didn’t push. He moved to the fireplace instead, resting one forearm on the mantel like he needed the support. The lamplight carved deep shadows into the lines around his eyes.
“I faked my death to protect you,” he began. “To protect all of you. There were people—corrupt, power-hungry ones—who’d have come for my family if I stayed in my life. I made the choice so you could live without looking over your shoulder every day.”
I felt the words like punches.
Protect you.
The phrase we’d grown up without. The one that had turned our father into a bedtime story and a folded flag.
“You let them tell us you were dead,” I said. My voice didn’t sound like mine. “You let her bury you.”
Byron’s eyes—my eyes, Jesus—didn’t waver. “I had to. Staying meant risking everything I loved. Walking away was the only way to keep the wolves from your door.”
The room tilted.
I saw my mom at the kitchen table, staring at that flag like it was a foreign language. Ethan—fourteen, trying to be the man of the house—chopping wood until his hands bled. Jacob punching walls. Caleb pretending he didn’t cry at night.
All because this man hadchosenthe shadows over us.
“You could’ve come back,” I said. “After. When it was safe. You could’ve?—”
“I couldn’t,” Byron cut in. “Not without dragging the danger right back to your doorstep. It’s still out there. I watched from a distance. Made sure you were okay. But getting close? That would’ve signed your death warrants.”
The silence that followed was worse than shouting.
Amelia’s hand found my back, palm flat between my shoulder blades. Grounding. Real. The only thing that wasn’t spinning.
I swallowed hard. “Dominion Hall,” I said. “That’s your … what?”
Byron’s mouth twisted. “A place for men like us. Family. Legal fronts. Hidden edges. It’s how we keep the past from swallowing the future.”
“Legal,” I echoed. The word tasted like ash.
Charlie spoke for the first time. “We don’t traffic kids. We don’t run drugs. We clean up messes the world leaves behind. That’s the line.”
I didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. My eyes were locked on the man who’d taught me how to tie a snare and then vanished before I could ask why the stars looked different in Montana.
Byron nodded. “The next part’s going to hit hardest.”
I froze. “What?”
He took a breath that seemed to scrape through him. “Charlie. The others in this house. They’re your brothers, Levi. Blood. Same father—me—but different mothers. But you’re all Danes. All mine.”
The world ended.
Charlie—grinning, easy, the guy who’d handed me a black card like it was nothing—mybrother?
The room spun. Faces blurred. Byron’s words echoed, multiplying, until they were a roar.
All mine.
I’d grown up the youngest of seven. Roughhousing in the yard. Sharing hand-me-downs. Stealing glances at Dad’s truck pulling away for another “deployment.” We’d buried him together. Cried together. Built a life without him together.
And now this? Secret siblings? A hidden half of the family I’d never known existed? Different mothers, same deadbeat father playing God with our lives?
My vision tunneled. Breath came short, ragged. The mantel blurred—Byron’s hand gripping it white-knuckled, like he knew he’d just pulled the pin.
“Levi,” Amelia said, sharp enough to cut through. Her hand clamped my arm. “Breathe.”
