The request caught her off guard. Sabin had barely let her out of his sight on his good days, as if afraid his lucidity might vanish the moment she stepped away. She glanced at Dom, who looked equally surprised but gave her a small nod.
“Sure.” She tried to keep her voice casual despite the worry bubbling up. Was this a good sign or the beginning of another episode? “I should check in with Mom anyway. She’s been texting non-stop about some new research paper.”
She squeezed Sabin’s hand once more before rising from her chair. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
“I know,” Sabin said softly. “You always are.”
Dom waited until the door clicked shut behind Vivi before turning his attention back to Sabin. The guy’s expression had turned grim. Whatever he wanted to discuss without his sister present, it wasn’t going to be light conversation about crawfish boils or childhood antics.
“She hovers,” Sabin said, eyes tracking to the door as if making sure Vivi wasn‘t lingering just outside. “Always has.”
Dom moved to the chair Vivi had vacated, lowering himself carefully to avoid jarring his shoulder. The wound was healing, but the pain remained a constant companion, flaring at the slightest provocation. “She was worried about you. Still is.”
“I know.” Sabin looked down at his hands, fingers still splinted where Raines had broken them. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said, his voice dropping. “In case I disappear into that other guy again and don’t make it back.”
“Man, don’t talk like that. You’re getting better every day.”
“I’m not getting better.” Sabin’s voice had an edge Dom hadn’t heard since they’d brought him back—something raw and desperate. “I’m just getting better at pretending.”
Dom leaned forward. “What are you talking about?”
Sabin glanced toward the door again, then lowered his voice further. “It’s still there. The programming. The... other me. I can feel him waiting, watching. When I sleep, he takes over. When I get tired or stressed, he pushes forward.” He tapped his temple with a splinted finger. “He’s always here.”
The specialists had warned them the conditioning might never fully disappear—but he’d been doing so well, it hadn’t seemed like a real possibility. “Does Vivi know?”
“No.” Sabin’s gaze darted toward the door again. “And you can’t tell her.”
“Sabin—”
“No. Listen to me. I might not get another chance to tell you this.”
The intensity in his tone made Dom straighten in his chair, the pain in his shoulder momentarily forgotten. “What is it?”
“When they had me, I recognized one of the guards. Tall. Dark hair. Blue eyes. And a phoenix tattoo, right here.” He touched the side of his neck, just below his collar.
A cold ripple of unease traveled down Dom’s spine. “No.”
“When I saw him, I said his name out loud. I couldn’t help it.” Sabin’s eyes had taken on a feverish intensity. “He went completely still. Like I’d hit him with a stun gun.”
The ripple of unease became a wave. “What name did you call him?”
But he knew even before Sabin said, “Brennan.”
All the oxygen left the room in an instant. His lungs refused to expand. His brain stuttered.
Brennan was dead.
Had been for two years.
They‘d had a funeral. A flag-draped coffin. Taps playing as Weston stood utterly still beside their devastated parents, and Tessa cried, and Cade looked like he’d wanted to put his fist through something.
“That’s not—” Dom’s voice broke. He cleared his throat and tried again. “That’s not possible.”
“It was him, mon ami.”
“Did he...” Dom struggled to form coherent questions as his mind raced. “Did he acknowledge you? Speak to you?”
“No.” Sabin plucked restlessly at the blanket. “When I said his name, he left the room immediately. Didn‘t come back. I never saw him again.”
