I taught her how to sketch for the first time when she was maybe three years old. For some reason, as I watch her now, I’m hit by the magical look that she had in her big green eyes when she looked at me back then.
The awe, the wonder, and the complete enchantment that was there when I used her little fingers to doodle on some paper. Of course, that was my creation, but Glyn took that paper and went running to Mum, screaming, “Look what Lan teached me!”
I realize with a sense of slight discomfort that back then, I experienced these bursts of pride and joy for reasons unknown. Naturally, those moments were few and far between and diminished the older I got, but they did exist.
It’s like a reminder of how largely the emptiness staked claim inside me. I refuse to lose any more of my agency to the demons lurking in the dark corners of my soul.
“Are you sure this is the right thing to do?” Glyn asks Bran instead of me since he’s the morality police around here.
“He doesn’t want to hurt her,” Bran says with the calmness of an ancient monk.
“Still. Isn’t it a breach of privacy to talk about something the family has kept hidden?”
“Not if I have information they don’t.” I take a sip of my beer in a failed attempt to hide my grin.
I happen to be quite proud of the fact that Mia told me things she’s never spoken of to her family. Prick Nikolai and pretentious Maya included.
Have you ever thought she told you that because she believes whoever knows will be killed by her kidnapper? part of my brain that’s wishing for a bullet whispers like a stage-five twat.
Besides, I could’ve asked Mia about the rest of the story and she would’ve eventually told me, but I didn’t want her to relive her kidnapping incident when she already gets nightmares about it.
“But…” Glyn trails off and plays with the zipper of her tiny backpack that I’m surprised can fit anything bigger than a mouse.
Speaking of which, I would rather I was in the company of my own little mouse, but, apparently, we’re not supposed to meet often.
When I asked her if she was hiding me from her family, she didn’t reply, and that was enough of an answer. She’s still ashamed of me, possibly refusing to tell her brother and his band of meddling fools that she’s seeing me.
And will be for a very long time.
But that’s okay. Everything will fall back into place. Not because I’m a hopeful romantic—disgusting—but because I’ll make it happen whether she likes it or not.
I’m open to anything, including relearning the entire world fucking history and seeing it in rosy colors instead of human greed, but letting her go is not an option.
Not in this lifetime or the next, or the twenty after.
“You don’t like lying to Killian?” Bran finishes for Glyn, bringing me back to the present moment.
Of course he’d figure out what she was about to say just by looking at her. I figured it out, too, but mainly because I’m nothing if not brilliant at linking patterns.
Glyn is somewhat of an empath, so she’s partially fine with exposing Mia’s secret if it means she’ll participate in helping her. What she’s not fine with, however, is going behind that twat Killian’s back to help me.
And I happen to be her brother, for fuck’s sake.
“He told me what he knows because he trusts me,” she says. “I don’t want to lose his trust.”
“You won’t, because none of us will tell,” I say in a calmer tone than I feel. “Think about it this way, the good outweighs the bad in this situation. Do you think he’ll be mad if what you disclose will help his beloved cousin?”
“Well, I don’t think so.” She releases her bag’s zipper and straightens. “Okay, so Kill has always avoided this subject whenever it comes up, but a few days ago, after the show you put on, something changed.”
Thank fuck.
I don’t say that out loud, though, or my attempts at rehabilitating my image with my siblings would take a sharp dive toward the worst.
I actually like that they don’t wear expressions of dread or disgust whenever I’m in their field of vision. They actually come to hang out in my room without me forcing them to—in Bran’s case it’s more to keep an eye on me.
They’re tangible proof that, yes, I controlled them over the years, but despite my godly logic, that process never produced a great relationship. This softer version, while not my favorite, is able to generate better results.
“In what sense did it change?” Bran asks.