My lungs stopped. The air around us felt heavier—like the world itself had heard what he'd just said.
All I could think was how.
How could he possibly know? I'd never told him. Not once. But still… he knew.
The sunrise blurred, colors bleeding together until it was nothing but a smear of gold and red. The warmth I'd felt moments ago was gone.
"Cass… are you going to answer me?" Luca's voice was quiet, careful—like I might shatter if he spoke too loud.
"What are you talking about?" I laughed. It sounded wrong—too sharp, too hollow. A sound that didn't belong to me. Maybe he was just guessing. Maybe this was a joke, or a test. Anything but truth.
"Cass," Luca said again, gentler this time. "It's okay. I understand how you're feeling—"
"NO, YOU DON'T!"
The words ripped out of me before I could stop them.
I turned on him, fists clenched, voice trembling with something between rage and grief.
"What do you know about how I feel, huh? You think you get it? You don't! You've never seen what I've seen, never felt what I've felt! Yeah—you have cancer. And your parents suck. But you don't know what it's like to wake up every day hating that you did. To wish you didn't."
As soon as it left my mouth, regret hit me like a knife. But I couldn't stop.
"You'll never understand, you spoiled—"
"Cass."
Just my name. Quiet. Soft.
Enough to cut through everything.
He wasn't angry.
He just looked… sad.
"It's okay," he whispered. "Please. Just talk to me."
My voice dropped. "How… how did you know?"
"Honestly?" He chuckled weakly, glancing at the horizon. "It was just a guess."
A beat passed. His smile faltered. "I'm kidding."
He looked at me again, eyes reflecting the pale light of dawn. "You've always been gloomy. But it's the kind that scares people—the kind that feels final. You think you hide it, but I notice. I always have."
He paused, the wind tugging at his hair.
"I'm not just anyone, Cassian. I'm your friend… maybe even your brother. Sometimes I think I know you better than you know yourself."
His gaze turned distant. "Funny, though… sometimes I think you don't really know me at all."
"What do you mean I don't know you?" I blurted out, defensive without even knowing why. "Do you seriously think I don't? You're the only person in this world I care about. I do know you, Luca. You're sympathetic, kind, gentle—someone anyone could like and get along with."
Luca sighed softly, the sound almost disappointed. "Then I guess you really don't know me. You think too highly of me, Cass. I'm not as special as you think."
He smiled faintly, the kind that hurt to see. "But enough about me."
Something in his tone unsettled me. He felt… different. Older. Calm in a way that didn't belong to him. It scared me. Did he really think I didn't know him—or was he the one ready to disappear?
"You know my past. You know exactly who I am," I snapped. "I'm just a ghost in my own skin, going through the motions. So why ask if you already know the answer?"
"Because of the way you looked at the sunrise," Luca replied quietly, still facing the horizon. "You looked at peace. It struck me because, in six years, I've never seen you look that way before."
His words disarmed me.
How could he notice something that small—and understand it better than I did?
He smiled faintly. "It's fine if you don't want to tell me. We can talk about it another time. Let's just enjoy the view while we can."
I said nothing. I just watched as the sun climbed higher, its light burning away the last traces of darkness—from the sky, and maybe, just for a moment, from me.
By the time we descended the hill, the sunlight was warm on our backs. We were late.
"Where the hell were you!?" Luca's mother's voice cut through the air the moment we stepped inside, sharp as glass.
Luca flinched but quickly replied, trying to calm her as always. "We were just up the hill, Mom. Watching the sunrise—"
"Metania, leave the boys alone," his father interrupted. His tone was calm—too calm. He didn't even look up from his paper. "I'll make dinner. Don't worry about it, boys. Go to your room."
I froze.
So did Luca.
His mother blinked, stunned into silence. For once, she didn't argue. We slipped past them quietly, closing the door behind us. I half-expected to hear another argument explode down the hall—but nothing came. Just quiet.
"Well… that was weird," I muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Luca laughed nervously. "Yeah. My dad never says stuff like that. Or cooks. What's going on with him?"
"Do you even think he remembers how to cook?" I said, smirking.
Luca burst out laughing, and for the first time that day, it felt like things were normal again. We both sat there, listening to the faint clatter of pots from the kitchen.
Then Luca sniffed the air. "Do you smell that?"
"I do…" I grinned. "Wait—is that what I think it is?"
The smell drifted stronger through the air—warm, savory, nostalgic. One of the few things in this house that ever brought me comfort.
"It's curry!" Luca finally guessed it — our favorite dish.
We both rushed out of the room, sprinting down the hall toward the kitchen. The smell hit before we even turned the corner — rich, spiced, familiar. It felt like home. Too much like home.
Seeing Luca's father making it made it even stranger. He never cooked. I wasn't sure he even knew how.
"Father, is that curry by chance?" Luca said, nearly tripping over his words, his impatience almost childlike.
"Yes. Yes, it is, son. Now sit down, boys, it's almost done."
He was smiling. Ereon never smiled.
We slid into our seats at the table, still catching our breath. Luca's mother lifted her wine glass and smiled through it, the red liquid trembling in her hand. She'd clearly had too much — enough to dull whatever was left of her grief. Enough to forget.
"Boys, please calm down. You're going to piss off your father," she slurred, her voice soft and unsteady, like she was afraid it might break something invisible between them.
"Will you leave them alone, dear? It's fine."
Ereon's tone was calm — almost gentle. It unsettled me more than his anger ever had.
He seemed lighter, like a different man entirely. It didn't feel real.
"So, Mother, how was your day at work?" Luca asked, trying to keep the moment normal, but the normalcy itself felt wrong — like he was acting in a play where he already knew the ending.
"It was like every other," she muttered, her head lowering to the table, words slipping from her lips like sleep.
While Luca spoke softly to her, trying to drag her back to the conversation, I turned toward his father, who was still stirring the curry, each motion deliberate, like he was counting time instead of spices.
"So… Ereon," I said, swallowing my nerves. Even his name felt strange in my mouth — foreign, heavy. It didn't belong here, not in this world.
He looked up, startled.
"So, how did work go for you today?"
"It… it was good, Cassian. Thanks for asking."
His words trembled, and for a moment, I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes — fear, maybe. Or guilt.
When we finally ate, everything felt almost right.
The warmth. The laughter. The light.
It reminded me of home — and that was the part that hurt the most.
Afterward, we cleaned the table in silence, the sound of clinking plates echoing like distant bells. Luca's parents went to bed without another word, the faint creak of their door closing carrying down the hall.
Exhausted but content, Luca and I went back to our rooms. I fell asleep smiling for the first time in years.
But the peace didn't last.
Something was wrong.
The air was heavy, coppery—the scent of blood, old and thick.
Darkness swallowed the house, broken only by slivers of moonlight slicing through the curtains. Drawn by something unseen, I stumbled toward the kitchen, heart pounding against my ribs.
The sight that waited for me shattered everything I'd rebuilt.
My mother hung from the ceiling—her body opened like torn cloth.
Something small swung beneath her.
Bloody. Still.
My unborn brother.
I fell to my knees.
Vomiting.
Shaking.
Tears blurred the edges of everything until there was nothing left but red and shadow.
My palms slapped into the blood, warm and slick, sending me crashing to the floor. My head struck hard, dazing me. I wiped my mouth and turned, half-expecting the world to vanish. Half-hoping it would.
But in the dining room—two more shapes.
My father. My sister.
Their faces were locked in silent screams, skin pale, eyes wide, frozen mid-horror.
Panic swallowed me whole.
I scrambled to my feet and bolted toward the front door—
—only to wake choking on air.
My lungs burned.
Sunlight pierced through the curtains, cruel and blinding.
For a moment, I didn't know which world I was in.
Sweat soaked through my clothes. My chest heaved as if I'd been drowning.
"What the hell…" I whispered, voice cracking. Luca lay across from me, peaceful, untouched, as if the world hadn't just ended.
The memory struck again, sharper this time—the day my family was butchered.
The day I lived when I shouldn't have.
Why me?
Why not take me too?
I curled up on the cold floor, empty. I didn't cry. I couldn't.
The tears never came anymore—they had years ago.
Six years, and still nothing. No evidence. No suspects. No reason.
The police called it a tragedy. I called it a curse.
The Altairs found me first—face-down in the snow outside the porch, nearly frozen. They'd come looking when we didn't show up for dinner. It was Luca who begged them to take me in when the officers hesitated.
He saved me that night.
And I've done nothing but weigh him down ever since.
Without him, I'd be a ghost—another forgotten file in a locked drawer.
He became my home. My only reason to stay.
And that, more than anything, made me feel like a burden they never asked for.
I'd been lying there, staring at the ceiling, thinking about everything that's ever happened in my life. Sunlight crept lazily through the blinds, cutting across the room in quiet, golden lines. I glanced at my phone—and my stomach dropped.
"IT'S 1 P.M.!" I shouted, bolting upright. "Luca, wake up! Your appointment!"
Luca groaned, rubbing his eyes. "What? There's no way it's already one."
He reached for his phone, blinked twice, then his face twisted in panic.
"Oh my god—IT IS one! We've gotta go!"
"Yeah, no shit!"
We scrambled around like maniacs, throwing on clothes, tripping over each other. I brushed my teeth while trying to pull on a jacket. Then the doorbell rang—shrill, relentless, cutting through the chaos like a knife.
"Is that the doorbell?" Luca asked, halfway through tying his shoes.
"I'll check!" I mumbled around my toothbrush. The bell rang again, harder this time, as if whoever was outside was getting impatient.
"I'm coming! Who is it?" I yelled, swinging open the door. At first sight, just legs—tall, motionless. My eyes climbed, my words died in my throat. "What can I—"