He hadn’t been fast enough or strong enough. And Tobias had died.
He swallowed hard, but the words crawled up his throat like they’d been waiting for years. Maybe they had—he hadn’t told this to a soul.
“I was supposed to watch him.” His voice didn’t sound like his own. Rough and low, like it had been sanded down to the barest parts.
Leon shifted slightly behind him, but stayed silent.
Karl blinked, vision going hot. He didn’t try to stop it.
“We were playing in the street. I was the older one. I should have watched him.” He dragged in a breath and ithurt.“He chased a ball intothe road.”
Simple words, but they tore something open deep inside him, and shame flooded out, thick and heavy.
“I should’ve stopped him. I should’ve—”
He broke off. Couldn’t finish it. Couldn’t even breathe.
Leon was still and silent beside him. As his heart pounded and his throat burned and everything in him curled in on itself, a hand came to rest on his shoulder, steady, strong, andthere.
And Karl, finally, let himself grieve. For his brother, for the boy he’d been, and for everything that came after.
Chapter Twenty-five
KARL
It felt like he’d fragmented. Scattered pieces, with nothing to pull them back together. Nothing except Leon’s hand on his shoulder, steady and warm.
Slowly, Karl was able to focus on that, to draw himself back. Everything re-ordered itself inside him, only it felt different. Like something was missing. And he realized, that small dark place, the black hole that had drained every good thing—it was still there, but its power was… lessened, at least.
For God’s sake, Karl wasn’t fanciful. He left that to Riley or Tristan, both subject to flights of fancy in their words. Must be the drugs. Leon had said they were black market—probably been laced with something.
Emotions didn’t make a man weak, but they made him vulnerable, and he couldn’t be vulnerable. Not if he was going to keep anyone safe. And he was failing at that, again. First Tobias, then his team, now Leon.
Right now, he couldn’t do a damn thing except make plans he didn’t believe in, and hope Leon would take them seriously enough that he’d be out of here when the time came. He knew how unlikely it was that he’d be mobile before Michael made his decision, and his mind buzzed with plans, possibilities, and under it all, the feel of Leon’s hand, still warm on his shoulder. He hadn’t said anything, not a trace of his usual superiority as Karl had lost himself. He’d just been there. Leon had seen inside him, seen more than anyone else ever had. Yet he was still here.
Karl wasn’t going to think about it. Planning was easier. Plans kept people alive.
LEON
He stayed still, letting Karl breathe. Letting him break, if he needed to.
Karl didn’t make a sound, but Leon could feel the trembling beneath his hand. Could feel the tight, desperate grip Karl still had on his own pain. As if even now, he still thought he had to hold it alone. Leon had never seen anyone try so hard not to fall apart.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Just stayed there, hand on Karl’s shoulder, anchoring them both. If Karl needed to hold on to something, he could hold on to Leon. Because this man, who’d driven him mad with his growling, controlling,frustratingstoicism, had just trusted him with something intensely painful and private.
The fierce, aching protectiveness he’d been feeling since the river made sense now. Not because Karl was fragile—he wasn’t—but because Karl didn’t know how to let himself be held. Yet sometimes he needed holding anyway.
Karl finally stiffened under his touch, enough to let Leon know he was pulling himself back under control. Leon quietly stood up from the bed and sat down again in the chair, looking at the floor and allowing Karl to pretend what had just happened hadn’t.
Still, Leon couldn’t help thinking that was part of the problem. Letting pain out was never easy, but walling it up? That corroded, ate a person up from the inside. When it finally surfaced—and it always would find its way somehow—it was as likely to tear them apart as help them.
Not that Leon had any real right to talk. He hadn’t exactly been a model of emotional openness, shoving all his own betrayal down deep so he didn’t have to think about it. He wasn’t stubborn like Karl, though. Obviously.
Karl sat up, folding his arms tight across his chest like he could will himself into functioning again. His face was pale and drawn, but his spine was straight, his jaw set. Recovery, apparently, had an on/off switch, and Karl had just flipped it.
Leon didn’t comment. He let the silence settle around them, not awkward but careful. Like neither of them wanted to break whatever fragile thing had taken shape between them.
In that silence, Leon became aware of Karl’s scent in a way he’d never been before. It was familiar on a level that made no sense, like it was something he’d always known.
