"No," Symond said with more conviction than his tipsy mind should have allowed.
The kid's face crumpled. "What? But you have to—"
"I said, no!" Symond's voice cut through the air, sharp enough to make the recruiters pause. "He's not going."
The kid tried to steer him back, to play the confused drunk brother card, but Symond was sobering fast. Crystal clear, actually. Clear enough to see exactly what this moment was: history trying to repeat itself, another lamb walking willingly to slaughter.
He scowled at the recruiters—those fucking vultures in their pristine uniforms—and grabbed the kid's arm, dragging him away from their reaching claws.
They walked in tense silence until the recruiters were just shadows behind them. Only then did Symond release his hold, turning to face this boy who wanted everything Symond had been forced to endure.
"You don't want to go there," he said. "Trust me. The Institute isn't some land of opportunity like they tell you. It's a playhouse for demons that chew up children and spit out broken things. It takes everything you are and twists it into something you'll spend the rest of your miserable life trying to forget."
The words hung between them like a confession. Like an admission of everything the Institute had stolen from him, everything it had made him become.
The kid's jaw set with familiar stubborn defiance. "I don't care. I'm not going back home. My parents want me to make shoes for the rest of my life. Shoes! I want to learn magic, alchemy, enchanting. Real power, not hammering leather all day."
Symond almost laughed at the bitter irony. Here he was, trying to save someone from something the kid actually wanted, while Symond had been dragged kicking and screaming to the same fate. The kid was fighting him with the same determination Symond had once used to fight his own parents—except their positions were completelyreversed.
"I don't give a shit why you want to join," Symond said flatly. "I won't lie for you."
The kid's eyes flashed. "Fine. I'll find someone else then. Either way, I'm not going back home."
He started to walk away, shoulders set with determination. Symond watched him go and felt something crack inside his chest. Some wall he'd built to keep the memories at bay, to keep the self-loathing from drowning him completely.
He could let the kid walk away. Could go back to the Hive, back to his enchanting and his alcohol-induced numbness and his desperate attempts to convince himself he was okay. Normal.
But the image burned behind his eyes: himself at that age, dragged away from everything he'd known while his parents watched with relieved smiles, believing they were giving him opportunity instead of damning him to this pathetic existence. Thorn's cruel hands, Gerard's violations, the slow systematic destruction of everything he'd once been.
And this kid would walk right into the same trap.
"Fuck." The word escaped like a surrender.
His feet were moving before his brain caught up, closing the distance between them in quick strides. "Hey. Kid."
The boy turned, hope and wariness warring in his hazel eyes.
"If you don't want to go home," Symond said, already imagining what Violette will say, "come to the Hive with me. You can learn magic there. And more. Real magic, not their poisoned version of it."
The kid's eyes lit up like stars. "Really? You mean it?"
Symond nodded, something loosening in his chest for the first time in years. He could save someone from suffering the same fate he did. He had to at least try.
Chapter 35
Violette
Violette was reviewing supply manifests in the boss’s office when the familiar creak of the Hive's front door echoed up through the polished halls. Footsteps on the stairs. Two sets, one heavy and uneven, the other light and quick. She frowned, setting down her papers. Symond's boots she recognized, but the second pair...
The door swung open without a knock—typical Symond—and she looked up to see him swaying slightly in the doorway. Behind him, barely reaching his elbow, stood a boy who looked like someone had shrunk Symond down and cleaned him up. Same wild blond hair, same hazel eyes, but where Symond carried himself like a beaten dog ready to bite, this kid practically vibrated with excited energy.
"Where the hell did you get a child?" Violette asked. "And why do you smell like you bathed in a brewery and pissed yourself?"
A flush creeped up his neck. "I didn't piss myself."
"The alcohol part?"
"Um alcohol… duh." He stepped fully into the room, the kid trailing behind him like a shadow. "Doesn’t matter. This is about the Institute recruiters. They were trying to—"
