She happily shows affection, and he, the brother, pretends he hates it.
A role I know well.
I swallow the ache in my throat and slip the photograph into my back pocket.
Snatching up the folded letter, I sit back against the bed frame and open the pages—the scrawling, messy script obviously penned by a man.
I catch a ‘Dear Nova’before anything else and contemplate putting it away. I consider getting in my car and racing across state lines. If I’m lucky, I’ll come up with a fucking plan for how to get her out before Aster kills her.
I’m brutally aware that for every minute I spend here, the further Nova and Tank get. For every mile placed between us, the less likely I am to get to her before she’s harmed. But I look down at the letter again, unable to walk away. Completely incapable of leaving his words unknown.
Dear Nova, I’m so sorry, kiddo. As I sit here and attempt to write this letter, I’m forced to consider a future where I’m no longer around.
The thought of leaving you behind is enough to make me sick. But if you’re reading this, then that means I’ve done the right thing by penning it.
“Fuck me.” I drag my hand over my face and draw a long, lung-stretching breath until my chest expands and my throat aches. Then I exhale again and look down.
I need to tell you a story, and then I need you to follow my instructions carefully.I know you’ll wanna argue, and fuck knows, you’re naturally inclined to be a pain in my ass, forging your own way forward despite my warnings. But there’s something so much bigger than us, Nov, something extremely dangerous swirling in the air, and it’s important I pass that information on to you, the way it was to me, before I no longer have the chance.
First of all, I need to confess that I’m a liar. I’ve lied to you a lot over the last ten years, and I’m here to beg for your forgiveness. The things I’ve told you, like working in the motor pool and never seeing the front lines of battle, were mere comforts. My gifts to you, I liked to hope, so you could rest easy and not worry while I was gone. My intentions, of course, were the same as Dad’s when he told Mom how easy his job was. How safe he was, and how she should never worry.
We know, Nova—those of us who leave, know—that the family left behind suffers. It’s better to let you think we’re safe than to leave you in a constant state of fear. So, for those lies, I’m both sorry and not. Because I’m a man of honor, and lying to you, my twin, who so desperately wanted to master telepathy, was like looking in the mirror and lying to myself. I was ashamed every time you stared into my eyes and asked a question, and with all your heart and trust and unwavering love, you believed every word I spoke.
You set me on a pedestal a million years ago, and I tried so fucking hard not to fall. But now, as I purge my soul and tell my truths, you need to know how thankful I am that you could exist while I was gone, comforted by the lies I told and able to rest, assuming I was safe.
I’ve been dishonest, I know. But I considered it for the greater good.
Because you, sweet Nova, are thegreatestgood.
You should know I feel dumb writing this, by the way. You’re in the next room, singing along to some weird pop song, and, just fifteen minutes ago, we were bickering because I flicked your ear. It feels unnecessary for me to take this time to write when you’re right there, and I’m right here, and in this moment, everything is fine.
But that’s how these things go, don’t you think? Everything was fine… until it wasn’t.
Now, it’s time I tell you the rest. And then I need you to do as you’re told.
I’m begging you, this one last time, trust my words and follow them closely. Because leaving you is already a pain I’ll never get over. But leaving you in danger… No. I won’t have that.
So, since we’ve acknowledged that I did not, in fact, tinker with engines for Uncle Sam, it’s probably time I explain who I really am. What I am. It’s time to tell you about the special unit I’m a part of. Which, whether you can believe it or not, is the same unit Dad helped create.
A really long time ago, there was a man, an extremely powerful man, who ran billions of dollars of illegal trade up and down the eastern seaboard. He moved things across the border and, ultimately, was responsible for countless deaths.
I mean that literally, Nov.
Countless.
Because apart from the people he killed with his own hands, he was also instrumental in bringing black market weapons into gangland wars, placing mass-killers into the hands of kids who didn’t know better, and laced drugs onto the streets overflowing with junkies given no chance to make a different, better choice. This man’s outfit handled what my superiors suspect were more than ten thousand missing children’s cases over a span of just ten years.
Girls, Nova. They were all girls, and I don’t think I need to explain to you what he did with them.
He was a bad, bad guy, and he was extremely powerful for a long time. The police wouldn’t touch him because he had too many in his pockets, and the military wasn’t really in charge of that stuff. Back then, when Dad was around the age we are now, he was swept into a mission with the goal of ending this dude’s reign.
Some of our guys posed as buyers. Others ran a long game and became a part of his inner team.
Some, I’m sad to say, switched loyalties after they’d gotten a taste of that world, while others failed to maintain their cover, which ultimately led to their deaths.
The reason for all of this, though—the reason you’re reading this letter, which probably means I’m already worm food—is because this man had a daughter. A beautiful, lusted after, extremely powerful, and yet completely oblivious of just how much she could command, daughter. And she was approaching that age: ya know the one, where a girl is no longer a girl, but a young woman. The perfect age to breed. Marry. Combine families, even.
Arabella was her name, and she was as rebellious as you. As intent on finding the good in everyone. She was brave and not always sensible, and as happens sometimes, she fell in love with a man she should never have given a second thought to.
