Walking as stiff as a plank while practically vibrating from side to side, the young Mylor desperately wanted to throw himself at his older brother if not for the inconvenient fact that the entire arena was watching their every move.
Every step came with enough clinking and clanking to make him sound as though he'd swallowed an entire toolbox, and the shorter the distance between them became, the more convinced Owen was that he was marching toward the greatest betrayal of his young life.
At that, another unshed tear quietly joined the floodwaters already threatening to burst their banks.
By the time he finally reached the still-covered mecha waiting at the center of the arena, Owen was clinging to the last tattered scraps of his dignity, using every ounce of self-control he possessed not to collapse to his knees and demand an explanation before the whole Empire.
"Bro..." he said weakly. "Are you trying to get rid of me permanently?"
