TWENTY-TWO
TALON
I’ve always been good at fixing things.
It’s my superpower, my defining trait, the role I’ve played since I was old enough to understand that charm could defuse tension, and a well-timed joke could redirect anger.
When Dredyn’s rage threatens to consume him, I pull him back with logic wrapped in humor.
When Jasper retreats into silence, I fill the space with words until he feels safe enough to emerge.
When the world gets too heavy, I make it lighter.
But tonight, standing in the hallway between Jasper’s locked door and the basement stairs where Dredyn’s been destroying the punching bag for the past three hours, I’m starting to understand that some things can’t be fixed with charm.
Some things are just broken.
The hallway is quiet except for the rhythmicthud thud thudfrom below—Dredyn’s fists meeting leather, over and over, like he can punch his way through the guilt eating him alive.
I lean against the wall, head tilted back, eyes closed. Mara’s asleep in my room—our room, really, since the four of us have been rotating based on who needs her most on any given night.Tonight, she needs sleep more than she needs any of us, so I left her curled under my blankets with Ghost purring on her pillow.
Now, I’m here, stuck between two brothers who are hemorrhaging trust and I don’t know how to stop the bleeding.
I knock on Jasper’s door. “Jas, come on, man. Let me in.”
Silence.
“I know you’re awake,” I try again. “I can hear you pacing.”
More silence.
I press my forehead against the door. “Look, I get it. You’re pissed. Dredyn fucked up. He should’ve told you about his father years ago, but he’s destroying himself down there and you’re destroying yourself in there and I don’t... I don’t know how to fix this.”
Nothing.
I wait another minute, then push off the door with a sigh. “All right. I’ll be downstairs if you change your mind.”
I know he won’t. Not tonight.
I go down to the basement and see Dredyn at the bottom, hammering the punching bag in the corner. His shirt is soaked through, hair plastered to his forehead. His form is sloppy now, exhaustion making him reckless. A particularly vicious hook makes him grunt in pain, but he doesn’t stop.
I move into his line of sight. “Dre. That’s enough.”
Thud. Thud. Thud.
“Dredyn.”
“Fuck off, Talon.”
“Not happening.”
He finally stops, chest heaving, hands dropping to his sides. Blood seeps through the white tape on his knuckles, and when he looks at me, his eyes are hollow.
“I can’t fix this. I broke it and I can’t fix it,” he says.
“You didn’t break?—”
“Yes, I did!” The explosion is sudden, violent. He grabs the heavy bag and slams it against the wall so hard the chain rattles. “I had information that could’ve saved Jasper years of guilt and I sat on it because I was too fucking scared to—” He stops, his jaw clenching. “I’m my father’s son. That’s what he’s thinking up there, that I’m just like James. A liar. A manipulator. Someone who uses people and calls it protection.”
