But fortresses can be breached. I'm living proof.
The difference between me and Jinx is that I got tired of the walls. Somewhere around year four, watching another kid bleed out on concrete because I'd hit him too hard, I realized that being empty wasn't the same as being safe. It was just being dead while your heart still beat.
I want more than that now. I want to feel things again, even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts. Pain means you're alive. Pain means you still have something left to lose.
"I should go talk to him," I say.
"Probably a bad idea," Jagger warns. "When Jinx needs space, pushing him tends to end in property damage."
"I'm not pushing. I'm just not letting him run."
"Same thing, where he's concerned."
Maybe. But I've spent six years waiting for answers. I'm not about to let him hide in his room until the mission forces us together. If we're going to do this, if we're going to work side byside and trust each other with our lives, we need to get whatever this is out in the open.
Or at least out of our systems.
"If you hear screaming," I tell Jagger, "don't intervene."
"And if we hear other noises?" Jonah asks innocently.
"Definitely don't intervene."
I leave the kitchen to the sound of Jonah's laughter and Jagger's long-suffering sigh.
Jinx is out on the back porch, staring at the tree line like it personally offended him.
He doesn't turn when I open the door. Doesn't acknowledge my presence at all. Just stands there, hands gripping the railing, shoulders a rigid line under his black t-shirt.
"Thought I told you to stay away from me."
"You did." I move to stand beside him, leaving a few feet of space between us. "I'm not good at following orders."
"No shit."
The sun is setting now, painting the sky in shades of orange and red and we’re just standing here, staring at each other. It's almost peaceful. Almost.
"Your brothers seem solid," I say.
"They are."
"Jonah's funny."
"Jonah's a pain in the ass."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
His mouth twitches. Not quite a smile, but close. Progress.
"Why are you here, Asher? Really." He turns to face me, and his eyes are dark, unreadable. "And don't give me that bullshit about wanting answers. You could have asked your questions and left. You didn't have to offer your people, your resources, your help."
"Maybe I want to see them burn as much as you do."
"Maybe. But that's not all of it."
No. It's not. But the full truth is harder to say. The full truth involves six years of nightmares and obsession and a desperate, bone-deep need to understand why this man, of all people, showed me mercy when no one else ever had.
"I was fifteen when they took me," I say instead. "Pulled me out of juvie, told me I had a talent they could use. I thought I was being given a chance. A purpose. Turns out the purpose was killing other kids for entertainment."
