Tyler

“Ne me pleure pas. Promis moi.”

Delphine’s whispered plea echoes through me as I stand at the large window in my suite. Gaze trailing up the glittering Eiffel Tower to the high beam shooting straight up into the clouds above. Thunder sounds nearby, light rain trickling down the four-squared windowpane as the rumble of my phone follows.

T: What were his exact instructions?

Sighing at the sight of the same message I’ve gotten a dozen times or more, I type my reply.

Working on cracking that top again?

T: Always.

I swear I relayed every word to you verbatim.

T: Humor me and tell me one more time.

In a blink, I’m re-living the day I gave the laptop to him. A day I’ve lived through one too many times.

“Wake up, asshole,” I snap, pushing through the door, still furious about the hand he dealt Sean and me yesterday when he woke up in the hospital. A moment I prayed for every second since he was gunned down on the street and spent a week in a coma. The upset in his eyes when he realized he’d survived broke me in a way I can’t ever see being repaired. Not after all the loss we’ve suffered.

Sickly pale and dressed in a hospital gown, his head lolls in my direction, eyes glazed over. A glaze that hasn’t cleared a single fucking day in the last year. “I’m awake.”

“No, you aren’t,” I snap, “but you’re about to be.” I drop the machine onto his lap, ignoring his pained wince. It’s a dick move, but it’s the pain churning in my own chest that has me giving zero fucks about my theatrics or his discomfort. It’s past time he acknowledges he’s not the only one suffering.

Sean’s refusal to speak a word to him when he woke—though he sat by his side the entire time he was unconscious—had us close to exchanging blows in the hospital parking lot yesterday. I’ve done nothing but fight for a year and a week since Dom died, trying to salvage what’s left of us.

A year and a week later, and I’m out of fucking patience.

“We’ve lost twenty-five goddamn birds,” I remind him, “and I’ll be damned if your casket is next to hit the ground. It’s time to wake up!”

Lifting the heavy laptop in his hand, he extends it toward me to take it, and I bat it back down to where it crashes painfully against his chest. He curses but doesn’t lash out, and we both know why. His selfish absence has cost us enough.

“,” he croaks hoarsely, “I can’t. Just—”

“His instructions were clear. I don’t get to ‘just’ anything.”

“Instructions?” he asks, eyes lowering to the sleek machine.

“Yeah, that ‘if the worst happens, I was to put it in the right set of hands’.” Opening the laptop to demonstrate, I press my finger on it, and nothing happens. Gripping his finger, I press the pad in the same place, and it lights up instantly. I lift my palms. “It’s obvious that set of hands isn’t mine.”

“I can’t,” Tobias chokes out in a plea, his voice tethered from the tubing they removed yesterday that pumped breath into him while Sean and I sat back, terrified he would never draw his own again. When he roused, and the realization set in that he’d survived, it was immediately followed by despair...the truth was made clear. He wanted to die.

Anger boils over as I lash out at the memory. “Fuck you!”

His eyes snap to mine in confusion, so I set him straight.

“You raised soldiers.” I pound my chest. “And right now, you have an army you’re not fucking commanding. At this point, we’re just as aimless as you’ve been since we buried him! I can’t do this alone. Correction, I won’t do this alone, and you’re not the only one going through shit.”

He stares through me. I haven’t made a dent. Nothing has.

“I’ve lost every fucking thing right along with you, you selfish prick!”

I see it the second it registers with him.

Delphine.

I swallow as what strength I have disperses. Aside from watching the woman I love lose her battle to a sickness I couldn’t fight for her, my brothers are all walking shells at this point. His eyes slick over with grief as he studies me.

“, I know that I’m— ”

“If I don’t ever get my brother’s back, I guess that’s one thing, and maybe, one day, I’ll make peace with that.” I relay, choking on the fact that may be the truth. “But that’s not happening today. So, I’m not carrying out another fucking task for this ink until I have the man back who put it there. Wake the fuck up, T.” I stalk over to the door.

Gripping the long handle, I glance back to see him looking at me. If anything, I’ve earned his attention. “You take for granted the breath in your body while I watched her struggle for every single one. She wanted those breaths because it meant having another day—with me. You want to line up with the rest of your family, go right on ahead, but I will not fucking be there to witness it if you don’t fight for your own breaths anymore. They deserve better... I deserve better. So, if you give a fuck about me at all,” I plead with him for the last fucking time, “wake the fuck up!”

***

To my surprise, Tobias texted me back to the hospital the next day. Sadly, my plan to motivate him with Dom’s laptop and target list bit me in the ass when Tobias was unable to crack into it.

Eight years later, we’re no closer than he was the day I delivered it, hoping it would restore his fire and give him a renewed sense of purpose.

He’s found that purpose and is more determined than ever to see the rest of his mission through. But knowing Tobias, he won’t be able to rest until he’s made good on the promise he made to Dom years ago.

To be fair, we’ve already seen a lot of those through. If he is watching, I doubt Dom would be disappointed. Tobias’s renewed sense of mission has him anxious to get started. One is because of the position we’re in with the US Government. Two, so at one point, he can claim his newly architected future with Cecelia.

I can’t blame him at all for the selfish quest to end it prematurely. I had the same selfish need in savoring the seconds with the love of my life.

If given the chance, I’d do it all over again—even knowing the outcome. Though, I went in knowing it.

After years of selfless deprivation, Tobias is wise to that—of how precious a currency time is, and in no way do I disagree that we need to see the last of this through before either of us can hang it up.

Our sacrifices are too fucking many, too great—it’s our time to reign.

This time, with the addition of a queen.

Her wings and upgraded status rightfully earned.

Even as Dom’s plan to overthrow Antoine took a back seat to our war with Miami, the reforming of our organization, the election, and the destruction of loose ends—Julien never forgot. Tasked with the unimaginable, Julien recruited carefully and masterfully, strengthening the birds hidden in Antoine’s ranks. Dom’s plan hatched just in time for Cecelia to swoop in and set off a chain of events to take Antoine down.

In our short stint working together since, Julien has quickly become one of our most trusted assets, surprising us all with his capabilities. Though Dom is irreplaceable, Julien has proven to be worth his weight in fucking gold.

We’ve been maiming those remaining in Antoine’s defective army in the months since Cecelia took him down. Clearing a path for the next phase.

Some of the fuckers Antoine had under his rule were ruthless to the point they in no way wanted to change their ways to suit having wings, and so, we’ve had to put a few down. Thankfully, through Julien, we’ve been able to track down the hardest cases.

But because we’ve had to wipe so many of Antoine’s thugs from our docket, we’ve made new enemies, and they’re making their presence known.

Many of them have become bold in their quest to retaliate. As a precautionary measure, we’ve moved residences every day for the last week. Tonight, we rented out an entire boutique hotel and have armed French ravens on watch taking sweep shifts on every floor. We also have Secret Service on every block within a quarter mile—added aid from my boss and our current President.

We have no plans to go quietly, or for that matter at all, especially with the recent drastic increase in the size of our movement.

After pulling on a T-shirt, I tuck a gun in the back of my jeans and exit my room, nodding at the two birds standing guard just outside their suite door before knocking.

Seconds later, Tobias answers in nothing but his pajama bottoms, his posture wary from another day of clean up.

He opens the door just enough for me to slip in with his whisper, “Cecelia’s sleeping.”

Nodding, I bend to greet Beau, allowing him to sniff my hand before scratching behind his ears. As cute as he is, he’s a temperamental, needy little shit who will make a fuss if he’s not acknowledged or doesn’t get the love he feels he deserves. He is also the second apple of Tobias’s eye.

Scanning the large suite, I spy the open laptop at the end of a solid oak dining room table that seats a dozen and make my way toward it. Tobias takes a seat behind the table and types in the first of two passwords. The first password he created was enclosed in the note the day I delivered it.

ALWAYS brOTHERS

It’s the second we’ve never been able to get past.

“I don’t understand why he would make it so fucking hard,” Tobias groans.

“Why wouldn’t he?” I counter.

“I get that, but it’s something I’m supposed to know.” He frowns at the screen. “Tell me what he said.”

“We’ve gone over this, man. He said to put it in the right set of hands. Your prints are the only ones that fire up this fucking thing.” Just as a thought occurs to me, Cecelia speaks up from behind us.

“That’s Dom’s,” she whispers hoarsely, and we both turn our heads to see her standing just a few feet away, tightening a long, floor-length silk robe as she stares at the laptop like the fucking ghost it is. “That’s Dom’s laptop.”

“Did we wake you, Trésor?” Tobias asks, his eyes roving over her in the way they always do—a way that conveys exactly what she means to him— life .

“I couldn’t sleep,” she replies before bending to scratch her attention-seeking whore of a dog. “Today was...long.”

Understatement.

Today was fucking horrific. Cecelia’s body count climbed substantially in the months since she and Tobias left Atlanta, her wings spreading and strengthening by the day. The innocence of the girl I met at eighteen is long gone and replaced by a fiercely made, forged-by-fire fucking warrior.

“You’ve seen this?” I ask, nodding toward the laptop. She nods, her eyes traveling over the piece of Dom sitting on the table in front of the three of us.

“What’s on it?” she asks.

“We don’t know, Trésor,” Tobias sighs. “That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out. For too fucking long.”

“You can’t get in?” she asks, peering at the image on the screen—Santa holding a waving American flag.

Tobias grips her hip and looks up at her from where he sits. “Remember when we met, I told you Dom and I were having a lot of problems seeing eye to eye on his extremes?”

Cecelia nods as Tobias looks back at the screen, his gaze somewhere in the past. “He was in the midst of building files of incriminating evidence against a lot of the corrupt. Somehow, he’s tapped into what no one should be able to. I sent him this laptop to help put his list together.”

She palms his shoulder in encouragement as he searches his memory. “I was searching for Abijah, so it was not long after you arrived in Triple Falls.”

She nods again, sadness etching her features, concern in her eyes for him. I see it the minute he recognizes it, and his eyes soften with devotion.

Her focus darts back to the screen. “So, Santa means a list, right?”

“Right,” Tobias nods.

She reads the little square box inside the flag. “And the hint is N-enemy?”

“Yes, we’ve exacerbated everything we can think of in that respect. We’ve even called in experts to calculate a list of possibilities, but my fingers have to be the ones to type the answer. There’s no way around it, and I haven’t exactly had the time to devote—”

“Tobias,” she interjects, “the N stands for natural.”

“Yes, Trésor, we’ve considered that, but—”

“That’s what it is,” she presses. “Natural Enemy.”

“Jesus Christ,” I utter as I look between them, the inkling growing stronger.

They both turn to me, alarmed as the image of Dom scanning his room the night he died, his back to me, shutters in. He wasn’t looking— he was thinking .

Tobias speaks up first, hope sparking in his eyes. “What?”

“I’m such a goddamned idiot.” I turn to Cecelia. “Have you ever typed into Dom’s computer?”

She nods.

“Do you remember what?” I prompt.

She shakes her head. “No, it was just a bunch of his codes, letters, and numbers.”

“No, it wasn’t,” I say.

“,” Tobias snaps out of patience.

Gripping Cecelia’s finger, I press it to the newly darkened keyboard, and it lights up like Christmas. Tobias’s eyes widen in shock as I exhale. “He was encrypting your fingerprints and programmed them to this keyboard.”

“ When ?” Tobias asks.

“It’s all about timing, isn’t it?” I sigh, shaking my head.

Tobias nods, knowing exactly when he encrypted them.

“What am I missing?” Cecelia asks.

“The night he died,” Tobias answers for me. “He told that if anything happened to him, to get the laptop into the right set of hands.”

“The right set of hands,” I whisper. “As in two sets of goddamn hands.”

Tobias had the first passcode, she had the other, and even if he figured it out, Cecelia had to be the one to type it in.

“Do you know the answer, Trésor?”

“I do,” she replies as we both tense up. She positions herself behind his chair before running her palms up his back along the expanse of his raven tattoo. “He and I had the conversation in passing one day. I’m sure you’ve guessed a thousand government-based terms, right?”

“Right,” Tobias nods.

“You’re thinking of a man’s natural enemy.” She bends to whisper in his ear. “What is a raven’s natural enemy?”

Fingers hovering over the keys, Cecelia types in each letter.

BALD EAGLE

In the next breath, the screen springs to life. A list of files lines up, and one name, in particular, catches my complete attention as Tobias stares up at Cecelia, incredulous. Seconds of stunned silence ensue as Tobias tries to make sense of it. “It was you, Trésor. He knew—”

Cecelia’s eyes fill and I glance over at her.

“We had to be together,” Tobias rasps out. “It was the only way in.”

She nods in perfect understanding, a grief-filled tear sliding down her cheek.

Elation quickly turns to alarm when I recall my conversation with Dom years ago—the day Cecelia arrived in Triple Falls—and Dom tried to explain what he was dealing with.

“That bad?” I ask.

“Worse, these aren’t acts of war.”

I mentally ready myself for whatever we’re about to see as Tobias and Cecelia remain staring at one another, bewildered.

“Please, man, please,” I plead. “I know this is heavy, but I have to know. After all this time, I have to fucking know.”

Tobias stares back at the screen, his own fear coming out to play. “Trésor—”

“Don’t waste your breath.” She shakes her head adamantly, her eyes relaying enough, and he nods. He’s been completely transparent with her since she took Antoine down.

But even I have to voice my objection—at least to warn her. “Cecelia, this is different. This is something you can never unsee.”

“I shot three men today. Don’t fucking preach to me, Jennings,” she snaps, giving us both a pointed look. It would be comical if Tobias and I weren’t truly concerned. This is what tortured our brother and had him acting out of pocket up until his death.

“Okay, Trésor, but please—”

“If it’s too much, I promise to walk away,” she assures us both before Tobias turns back to the laptop, trepidation littering his profile.

Bracing myself, I feel it coming. I know that whatever we’re about to discover will irrevocably change the three of us as Tobias clicks the first file, and a video pops up.

Mere minutes later, I have Tobias pinned to the floor, using every bit of my strength as I press my knee into his back while he roars beneath me in a mix of torment and fury. Agonized cries leave him as Cecelia quickly lies on the floor next to him on her stomach, gently calling his name over and over to bring him out of the darkness that has engulfed him. Doing what I can, I chime in as he flails physically and mentally.

“We’ll get every single fucking one of them, T,” I grit out as he struggles against me. “I swear to you, man, we’ll get them all. Every single fucking one.”

“I’m right here, Tobias. Look at me. Please, my love, look at me,” Cecelia begs, her tear-streaked face an inch from his, the horrors we’ve witnessed reflecting in her eyes. She peers back at him, voice soothing as she palms his jaw.

“Trésor,” he gasps just as he goes limp beneath me.

“, let him go,” Cecelia whispers, not looking away from him.

Unable to think past the second I’m in, I watch them for endless minutes as Cecelia coaxes her king forward in the way only she can.

Like everything else, Dom just fucking knew.

With the way he set this up, there was no other way to task Tobias with a future he couldn’t survive without her to fall back on. A plan that was impossible for Tobias to execute without her strength. An undertaking he refused to let him near without Cecelia there to bring him back from the dark places in his mind.

Because that was what she did for Dom.

Cecelia’s always been a reprieve, a safe haven, and had the resilience many of us didn’t.

It’s what none of us could pinpoint inside her because we were the ones who eventually tested it and brought it out of her.

Dom figured it out at some point and gave her the position before she earned it.

Staring back at the start of the video that set Tobias off, nausea churns in my gut at the memory of each horrific second, but I manage to tamp it down.

Our agenda for the foreseeable future is sorted.

The idea that Dom had shouldered this on his own is too much to fucking bear. We’d all condemned him for his behavior while, daily, he’d struggled in his own skin. Knowing that there were monsters like these sick fucks out there, doing these things for their own amusement, and worse...getting away with it.

But like with all things, knowing or suspecting is one thing, but Dom has always known the value of seeing to believe. I stand shaken to my core by the amount of strength and discipline he had to have mustered, even with the way he acted out.

Inhuman strength.

When our wheels touch down on American soil mere hours later, and we’re safely in the car, I marvel at my chosen brothers—both of them.

From orphans with absolutely nothing, to the men they became to this moment, I feel a sense of pride for having witnessed such a miraculous transformation—including the revolution of the woman currently at Tobias’s side. The difference between the beginning of then, to the beginning happening now, is mind-boggling. As I study them both in wait for what’s about to transpire, Tobias unlocks eyes with Cecelia, swiveling his head in my direction. After hours of disconnect from him, he’s back, and there’s only one fucking way to discern what’s so clearly written in his eyes. The same look that was in his brother’s years ago— Vengeance.

Hearing the strain of my pounding feet on the treadmill of my office, I click the channel and browse through Fleet Media news stations.

Click

“...twelve trafficking hive leaders were found murdered in their homes last month, thirty additional arrests have been made. Authorities have reported that over six thousand chil dren have been recovered in the last two weeks—”

Click

“The A-list is under cyber-attack today, and it’s not pretty, folks. New evidence has been circulating the web regarding several studio moguls, pop singers, producers, acclaimed actors, and even sports giants taking part in a disturbing ritual. Warning, the brief clip you’re about to see is not at all recommended for sensitive and younger viewers—”

Click

“This just in. Two military officials were discovered today, having been gunned down in their homes. Investigators at the scene reported looping video footage on every screen of the officials’ houses, including incriminating correspondence between the two officers. The two men were under investigation nearly a decade ago when charges were brought against them due to the discovery of a re-routed shipment of military-grade guns. One of which was found in the hands of Joshua Brown, the twenty-year-old who was shot dead outside a North Carolina auditorium on the Fourth of July. Next to Joshua’s body was a duffle bag filled with military-grade guns and ammunition, along with printed online correspondence of his plans for a mass shooting to take place later that day. Though the second suspected gunman was never found, shell casings of the same weapons were discovered during a North Carolina crime spree which led to the arrest of both military officials. Both officials were charged but found not guilty due to insufficient evidence. But in light of investigators’ new findings—”

Click

“In the last two months, numerous reports have been flooding the airwaves in what officials, government agencies, and media alike have deemed the most methodical retribution plot in US history. The common ties to each, substantial and indisputable evidence, which has perplexed authorities. Many reports have labeled this movement the ‘Smoking Gun.’

“The FBI, CIA, DEA, and other government agencies are baffled by the surge of vile acts and crimes that have been brought to light but have not been able to identify a single suspect in connection to this phenomenal string of vigilante justice. The suspects, who took it upon themselves to act as investigators in addition to judge, jury, and executioner, still remain at large. These eye-opening events have since set off a chain reaction around the country, and many have come forth in aiding these vigilantes—”

Clicking off the TV, I slow the treadmill to cool down before walking a full minute in silence, his words echoing through me.

“You would think at least one of you would understand my struggle.”

My chest cracks in recollection as I absorb the domino effect Dom set into motion a year before he died.

Though satisfied with our progress since we left France, it’s as though not an ounce of the weight has left me. It’s no big surprise why. I memorized every detail Dom left us, along with his methodical plans to both expose and dispose of the trash. It’s the amount of planning that remains the most disturbing. The painstaking detail in which he laid it all out. The amount of time he spent with this in his head. Alone. Utterly alone in it all.

Feeling the burn in my chest and making peace with the fact that I may never know peace again, I make my way to the shower.

Minutes later, I wrap a towel around my waist as I pick through more than a dozen suits, expertly tailored to fit the President’s right-hand man. Today, I’m not him, and I won’t be until my task list is complete. Mine is much longer than everyone else’s—not out of spite but because Dom knew what position I would be in at some point.

Exhaustion tries to sneak its way in, but a little over two years into Monroe’s first term, I marvel at the fact that Dom’s next gift will help us exterminate enough in DC to win Monroe his next election. As invisible as Preston’s ink might be, he’s a raven through and through.

Allowing the day to settle in, I remember my brother for who he was and what he hid.

His secrets were always kept with the purpose of being our gateway.

He didn’t just shield us from the burden of knowing. He was biding his time for all of us so that, piece by piece, we got everything we needed to press forward and do it in the most impactful way.

I’m convinced now he felt his imminent death on those stairs all those years ago and no doubt started preparing in the year before he left us.

Whether he knew it or not, he knew enough and mapped our start.

Plucking a suit from my closet, I walk inside my bedroom as my cell rings. “Jennings.”

“Mr. Jennings, your car is here.”

“Thank you, I’ll be right down.”

Walking out of the hotel ten minutes later, I’m met by the sight of my temporary driver as his lips quirk up, eyes dancing with mirth.

Clint holds the door open, his driver’s uniform laughable as he greets me. “Good morning, Mr. Jennings.”

“Cut the bullshit,” I clip, my own lips lifting at the sight of him, looking whole and healthy compared to the night I drove him into an unknown future.

“Today’s the big day, huh?” Clint asks.

“Yeah, so let’s not keep him waiting.”

“Yes, sir,” he says, smirking as he closes the door and gets in the driver’s seat. Twenty minutes later, we pull up to the airport in wait.

“Heard the news,” Clint says while my eyes frantically search the terminal for any sign of him.

“Yeah?” I say as we share a smile in the rearview.

“It’s unbelievable, man, what you guys have accomplished,” he says with nothing but admiration in his voice.

“By someone else’s design,” I say, straightening my sleeve beneath my shirt jacket as Dom’s words strike me again.

“When we wait for someone to do something, no one ever fucking shows up.”

Just as his words reach me, Zach appears outside the terminal, civvies on, his hair only an inch thicker than when I picked him up from graduating basic. He cracks a smile a mile wide when I step out of the car, and I head in his direction. Neither of us breaks our stride as we embrace. My heart alight as we hold on a little tighter than the norm, and his whisper hits my ear. “Hey, Dad.”

Chest roaring with the sound of it, I clamp his broad shoulders and pull back slightly, eyes roaming over him. “You look good.”

“Feel good,” he says as Clint relieves him of his duffle, tossing it in the back of the SUV.

“You ready?” I ask.

“Been ready,” he reminds me. We’ve had a few arguments about when he would get inked, but we always agreed this day would come. What better place to commemorate the occasion than the place where it all began.

Three hours later, the three of us stand graveside as I scan the headstones lined up just past the iron gate—one belonging to my first and only love, and the other, my chosen brother. The two of them were so alike in so many ways that it was uncanny. Ways I never pointed out, but they were both aware of. Both of them were intuitive and fueled by their hearts, but those hearts were often stunted by their brilliant mind and need for independence. Impenetrable until they weren’t, and once you got in, you were made to feel it. I experienced the love of both those hearts, and it was incredible.

We all stare for a few beats at the headstone that reads PRINCE DECHU. Three generations of birds paying homage to the man who irrevocably changed each of our lives for the better. Who gave us purpose and made us part of the most valuable thing that continues to survive his death— his legacy .

Allowing the ache to have its way with me, I watch as Clint steps forward. He pulls his latest annual sobriety chip from his pocket before bending down to Dom’s grave, his words drifting back to Zach and me.

“I wanted you to have this one.” He pushes the chip into the ground in front of the gravestone. “You saved my life, brother. In more ways than one. Thank you.”

He slowly stands and lingers briefly before turning to Zach and me, palming my shoulder as Zach steps forward. Plastic wrapped around his fresh ink, he kneels, no longer resembling the gangly boy we collectively took in and sheltered, and brushes some of the debris from the weathering headstone.

“I...” his voice wavers slightly, and I understand every shake inside it. It’s been a long, hard road for both of us. Zach became a permanent part of my life at the worst imaginable time. At the brink of war, and while Delphine was losing her battle with cancer. His father hadn’t bothered looking for him, and I had to pin the fucker down and get persuasive for him to sign for the adoption. Even as my own hand trembled a little while finalizing the papers, I knew it was the best decision I would ever make. He became my son legally at fifteen—now a man, a fourth-generation marine, and a raven. I’ve never been more in awe of how things work out.

“You were right,” Zach tells Dom. “I’m nothing like him,” he relays hoarsely. “Dad says I’m a lot like you, and all I can say to that...is I fucking hope so.” He runs a hand along the top of the stone. “You gave me a family, and for that, I can’t thank you enough, Dom. We’ll be back.”

Zach stands and looks over at me with a reverent glaze in his eyes. I return his stare, hoping he sees the pride shining in mine as the burn keeps me mute.

Zach reads my expression and gestures toward Clint. “Let’s give him a minute.”

They both nod and take off through the gate and down the hill. Taking my time, I allow the memories to flood me, emotions churning as I stare at the etched date of the days I lost them. It feels just like yesterday, then again, a lifetime ago.

His words kick back to me as I stare down at his weathering stone.

“When we wait for someone to do something, no one ever fucking shows up.”

“I always believed you,” I whisper as every hair on my body stands on end. “You were the someone who did something—still are,” I choke around the burn in my throat. “I hope you’re seeing this, brother.”

Dom

“Don’t you dare leave me here. I want that date with you,” Cecelia demands tearfully, roping me back to her as the past, present, and future collide and intermingle. Within the next heartbeat, I’m blinded by another flash of light and pulled back through.

Whoosh. Whoosh.

Anger and resentment between two fighting brothers who refuse to turn their backs on the other.

A ceaseless war.

Love lost and found.

“I’m right behind you, Dom.”

A battered heart pushing a ring on a new love’s finger.

More grief as a presence brushes against me.

“I see you found our back door, nephew.”

A hospital door.

“Wake the fuck up, T.”

A faithless man healed by a fatherless son.

An intake of a baby’s first breath. “I told you I’d give you my firstborn, but I gave him your name instead.”

Another crack of a baby’s first cry...echoed by another, and another.

Flags waving as millions gather with renewed hope.

“We’re waking ghosts up, Rye.”

A lost love retrieved on a cobblestone street.

“I wish you would have taken me with you, but I guess, in a way, you took us all with you.”

A burst of music, a paintbrush dipped in red, a distant bark.

Healing.

“Je suis désolé. Je suis désolé. Je suis vraiment désolé.”

“Fireflies.”

The coronation of a queen.

Unification.

More presences brushing against me, our governing view the same.

The click of pool balls.

Endless laughter.

Boundless love.

A solid beam of light piercing into a cloud-filled sky.

A long-awaited reckoning followed by an awakening.

Vengeance.

Revelation.

“You were the someone who did something—still are. I hope you’re seeing this, brother.”

Endless dawns and sunrises.

Foamy waves rolling toward cliff rock as clouds gather above a turbulent sea.

“We did it, brother.”

Life given and life taken away, and every moment in between.

I live it all, with them, through them, as them.

Whoosh.

“If you leave, we will be brothers wherever you go, right, Maman?”

Whoosh.

Tobias presses his forehead to mine as I relay through stunted breaths that there is no separation—one last secret to take with me. “Frères pour toujours.”

Whoosh.

Cecelia’s storm engulfs me fully, sweeping me into the blissful state only she could ever take me as my brother’s whisper reaches me, “Mother greet you, Father keep you. I love you, brother.”

Whoosh.

“It’s time to sleep, Petit Prince.”

Whoosh.

Whoosh.

Who-osh.

Whoo