That was the truth.
Titus sobered instantly. The humor drained out of him—not because he was ashamed, but because he finally understood what this moment was costing Viper.
He looked down at his hands. Saw the faint tremor he hadn’t noticed before.
“Wasn’t the plan,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
No promises. No don’t do it again. Just understanding.
That mattered more.
The quiet didn’t leave this time. It softened.
Titus stared at his hands for a beat, then spoke without looking at him. “My brothers were monsters,” he said. No softening it. No distance. “Everyone knew it. I grew up carrying that. People looking at me like the verdict was already written—like blood decided character.”
He shifted carefully, aware of the pull at his side. “They’re dead now. I’m not. But I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove I wasn’t them. Trying to outrun what they did.” His jaw tightened once. “That shaped me. How I fight. How I trust. I’m trying to change some of it—but it’s not fast.”
He finally looked up. “I need you to remember what they were,” he said. “And still choose me.”
Viper didn’t hesitate. He stepped closer, his presence solid, unyielding.
“You are not your brothers,” he said quietly. “I’ve said it before.” His gaze held, steady and sure. “You’re a good man. You just need to believe it.”
The words didn’t fix anything.
They didn’t erase the past.
But they held.
The nurse came in with paperwork and immediately addressed Viper, rattling off instructions like he was the default authority. Titus noticed. Let it happen.
Because for once, he didn’t want to be the one in control.
When they were alone again, Titus dressed carefully. Viper handed him his jacket without comment, holding it steady while Titus slipped into it.
Automatic.
“Where are we going?” Titus asked.
“Nevada.”
Titus stopped at the door.
“I’m still Erebus,” he said.
This wasn’t hesitation. It was honesty.
Viper didn’t flinch. “I know.”
A beat passed.
“Come anyway.”
Titus felt the weight of the choice settle fully into his bones.
This wasn’t an order.
