Finn
Power was a drug and Finn was high on it.
He walked the halls of Blackwood Manor like he owned the place which, in a way, he did.
He owned the man who owned it all.
Every shocked face, every scandalized whisper from the staff, was a hit of pure satisfaction.
The game was simple: Push. See how far he could go before the Duke of Blackwood finally broke.
He started in the stables. Theron's prize stallion, a massive black horse named Ares, was on a strict feeding schedule. It was written on a chalkboard. Finn found a piece of chalk, erased 'Two Flakes of Hay' and scrawled 'A Bucket of Oats and a Pint of Ale' in its place. Graves, the stable master, stared at him, his mouth open.
"His Grace will have my hide," he stammered.
Finn just grinned. "His Grace can bite me. The horse looks bored. A little ale will liven him up." He clapped the man on the shoulder. "Don't worry, old man. I'll take the blame. Tell him it's the tutor's orders."
He left the man sputtering and moved on to the kitchens. Beatrice, the cook, was planning the evening meal.
"Smells good in here," he said. He leaned against a worktable and snatched a piece of candied ginger.
She eyed him with suspicion. "This is a kitchen, sir. Not a lounge."
"I've got a suggestion for dinner. Let's have mutton pies. And lots of gravy. The thick kind. Proper food."
Beatrice flushed with indignation. "His Grace specifically requested the trout. The menu is set."
"Well, now it's unset," Finn said cheerfully. "Mutton pies it is."
He was deliberately messing with the manor's routine, replacing Theron's strict order with his own chaos.
Elsie found him in the servants' passage. Her face was tight with anger.
"What are you doin'?" she hissed. She grabbed his arm and pulled him into an empty pantry.
"I'm havin' fun," he said, shrugging her off. "Relax, El. Everythin's goin' to plan."
"This isn't the plan!" she shot back. Her voice was a low, furious whisper. "The plan was to expose him. To ruin him for what he did. The plan was not for you to become the bloody lord of the manor and order mutton pies!"
"It's part of the game," he insisted. "I'm gettin' under his skin. I'm showin' him I'm in charge now."
"Are you?" She challenged him. "Or are you just enjoyin' the show? You like this, Finn. You like the power."
He turned away from her. He couldn't meet her gaze. Of course he liked it. After a life of being nothing, of being spat on and kicked aside, being the one holding all the cards felt good.
But it was more than that.
The chaos was a distraction from the things he didn't want to think about.
Like the memory of Theron's hands on him. The heat of his body. The strength in his grip.
"I know what I'm doin'," he said, his voice hard.
* * *
He found his way to Theron's study.
Standing in it now as himself felt like the ultimate act of trespassing. He picked up a silver letter opener, testing its sharp point against his thumb.
"Mr. Vale?"
Finn froze, dropping the letter opener. He turned slowly. Julian stood in the doorway, clutching his sketchbook to his chest. His wide eyes were filled with confusion.
"Mr. Vale is gone," Finn said. His voice was harsher than he intended.
Julian took a hesitant step into the room. "Why?"
"Things change, kid," Finn said. He turned his back on him and pretended to examine a book.
"You're different," Julian persisted. "You're not nice anymore."
Finn spun around. "Maybe I was never nice!" he snapped. The words were out before he could stop them.
Julian flinched. His lower lip trembled and his eyes welled up with tears. He hugged the sketchbook tighter.
"Don't you want to be my friend anymore?"
The question hit Finn like a physical blow.
All his anger, all his righteous fury, vanished, leaving behind only an aching guilt.
He looked at Julian. Really looked at him.
A lonely boy in a big house with a sketchbook full of imaginary worlds. Desperate for a friend.
And Finn saw himself.
He was ten years old, huddled in the corner of a grimy Port Wexley schoolyard. The other boys were kicking a ball, shouting and shoving. He had a book in his hands, some adventure story he'd stolen from a street vendor.
He was smarter than all of them. He knew it. He could read words they couldn't even spell.
But he was alone. Always alone.
Finn let out a long, slow breath and ran a hand through his hair.
"Look, kid…" he started. His voice was softer now. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you."
Julian wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.
Finn knew he couldn't tell him the truth. Not the real, ugly truth. But maybe he could offer him a piece of it.
"Me and your uncle… we're havin' a… disagreement." He chose his words carefully. "It's about my brother. My older brother. He… he died years ago."
Julian's expression shifted immediately. He knew loss. He had lost his parents. He walked over and stood in front of Finn.
"I'm sorry about your brother," he said quietly.
He was being offered comfort by the nephew of the man he was trying to destroy. The guilt was a heavy weight in his chest.
"I'm still angry about it," Finn admitted. "And when I'm angry, I'm… not very nice. It's got nothin' to do with you."
Julian nodded. "So… are you still going to be my tutor?"
Finn was floored.
After everything, the boy still wanted him.
"Yeah, kid," he heard himself say. "Yeah, I'll still be your tutor."
A relieved smile touched Julian's lips. "Good," he said. He held out his sketchbook. "I drew a picture of Ares, Mr. Vale. I wanted to show you."
Finn looked at the childish drawing of the horse and then back at Julian.
"Hey," he said gently. "You can call me Finn."