Teorin opened the last burstdoor, the only door he hadn’t checked yet in Trevor's outpost. Sure enough, it revealed a small landing and a staircase.

  He listened. Silence. No sign of movement above.

  That didn’t mean no one was there.

  The tower could be accessed from the outpost’s rooftop runway. Its lock was standard, not burstproof. If someone was waiting up there, they would see him the moment he stepped outside. Following him would be easy. Attacking him would be easier.

  Better to face someone directly if they were there.

  Teorin stared up the stairs. He didn’t like his options. But the tower was his best shot. He could leave directly from the runway.

  And maybe no one was up there.

  He climbed. The stairs opened into a windowed room, empty. He exhaled. Then peeked around the wall—

  And locked eyes with a gaze that mirrored his own.

  Teorin froze, then ducked back into the stairwell.

  Cascades.

  Those eyes: startling green. He only knew one other pair like them. Exactly what he wanted to avoid.

  This was no time for a family reunion. Apparently, Marcus felt the same. Teorin heard a sharp curse from the other side of the wall.

  Silence.

  Then Marcus called out, “You might as well come out, Teorin. You won’t make it to the burstdoor before I catch you.”

  Teorin clenched his jaw. Marcus was probably right. If he ran, he’d just be trapping himself in the outpost’s lower levels, and if Marcus got through the door? That would be worse.

  He took a slow breath. Then stepped into the room to face his brother.

  Marcus was lounging on a paper-strewn couch beside a telescope, dressed in a blue wing jacket and dark pants. He looked… comfortable. Like he’d just come home and crashed.

  The sight hit Teorin like a punch to the ribs. Suddenly, he was eight years old, tracking mud into the living room, while Marcus frowned at him from the couch.

  Marcus’ stare hadn’t changed much. He hadn’t changed much.

  He just looked a little older. Marcus was 29 now. Teorin could barely remember the last time he’d seen him. A brief encounter when he came to get an old file?

  Circa’s taunting echoed in Teorin’s head. “You look like him, you know? Not as tall, but your features are similar. I can see why he didn’t want to come.”

  It was no surprise Circa had pegged them as brothers. Everyone always did. The similarities were obvious: their builds, their eyes, the shape of their faces.

  But for Teorin, Marcus had always reminded him more of their father, with his dark hair and aquiline nose.

  Circa had said Marcus hadn’t wanted to come. And yet, here he was. Sitting on Trevor’s couch, arms stretched across the back, ankles crossed in front of him, watching Teorin with that same familiar expression.

  Like he was about to scold him for coming home late.

  “How in the cascades did you get in here?” Teorin demanded. The door to the roof’s runway was intact. The far-side window stood open, but Teorin had seen it shut before he arrived.

  Marcus didn’t answer right away. He just leaned forward, propped his elbows on his knees, and sighed. “I’d hoped Jeron would send someone else.”

  Teorin gritted his teeth. Marcus wasn’t dodging the question. He gestured toward the door for emphasis. “How did you get in?”

  Marcus reached into his pocket and held up a small silver key. “Let’s just say I have connections.”

  Right. Probably illegal ones. “Connections, huh?”

  Marcus hummed in amusement. “I didn’t steal it if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  If Marcus didn’t want Teorin to make assumptions, then he shouldn’t be so cryptic! But given the photo of Trevor he’d found, there was someone who could have given it to him.

  Isi.

  “Right. Where is Isi?” Teorin asked, scanning the room for any shimmer in the air, any sign of a Luminar lurking nearby. Nothing shifted. No warping. That didn’t necessarily mean much. Isi was a da Silva. Their specialty was invisibility.

  Marcus shrugged. “She’s busy.”

  “Busy sneaking up on me?” Teorin asked, glancing back at the open window.

  “She doesn’t have time for you at the moment.”

  Vague. Evasive. Typical. So was Isi five minutes away or a hundred miles?

  “So if you aren’t here with her, why are you here, Marcus?” Teorin asked, inching toward the runway door.

  Marcus stood from the couch and gave Teorin a look that said, Do you really want to try that?

  Teorin froze.

  “You have something I need, Teorin.”

  He’d forgotten how much Marcus towered. When Marcus left, all his brothers had been taller than him. Now, Teorin had caught up to most of them. Marcus, though, he was still a solid four inches taller.

  The height difference made it worse. Like a playground bully shaking him down for lunch money while pretending it was justified.

  Teorin clenched his jaw, frustration pounding through him. “Makes sense,” he said flatly. “You only ever show up when you need something.”

  Marcus rolled his eyes. “I don’t usually get the impression that I’m welcome at home.”

  “I wonder why.”

  Marcus fell silent for a moment before exhaling. “I am sorry about leaving. I was young and stupid.”

  “Wow. What a great apology. Was that all you could come up with after thirteen years? Or were you just workshopping it while you sat here waiting to ambush me?”

  “Teorin—”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  But Teorin’s anger was burning now. He plowed on. “Do you have any idea how frantic Mom was after you left? It wasn’t enough for us to lose Dad. You had to disappear too! Not even a note. We thought you were dead. Then, when we finally heard from you, it was just a letter. And you were working with people Dad and Jeron openly despised. What exactly did you expect after all that?”

  “My apologies for not being as eloquent as you’d like,” Marcus shot back, his tone equally biting, but then his expression softened. “Look, truly, I’m sorry for leaving. But I had my reasons.”

  “Thanks,” Teorin said bitterly. “That’s what every kid wants to hear from his older brother.”

  Marcus rolled his eyes. “You had four older brothers.”

  “You’re right. I’ll let Raph know you abdicated the title of Eldest to him.”

  Marcus sighed. “He’s probably a better role model anyway. Look, I’m not here to argue, not about this.”

  An interesting segue.

  “So what are you here to argue about?” Teorin asked quietly.

  “The drive.”

  Of course. It was silly to hope Marcus wanted something else.

  This day just kept getting better.

  Teorin had never really fought with Marcus, not with the age gap, but he’d seen Marcus’ and Raph’s arguments turn physical more than once. Marcus had always been a skilled Pulser, even before he left. He was bound to be even better now.

  And he wasn’t weighed down by a glidesuit. His wing jacket was lighter, more flexible, but it also wasn’t built for long distance flying. Not with it’s smaller wingspan. In the tower, Marcus had the advantage. In the air, Teorin did.

  But to fly, he had to get past Marcus. He had to get to the door. Maybe Teorin could distract him. Or surprise him.

  “So, do you think I’m just going to hand it over?” Teorin asked, shifting a step to the side.

  “Why do you even want it?” Marcus shot back.

  Teorin rolled his eyes. “It’s my job. That’s why.”

  “Right. Just doing whatever your masters command.”

  “At least I’m not tied around a da Silva’s little finger,” Teorin snapped, eyes narrowing. Marcus had been bowing to Isi’s whims since he was sixteen. Maybe earlier.

  Marcus just shrugged. “Isi’s usually right. If I’m going to follow someone’s orders, I’d rather it be hers. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  Ha. Of course not. Nothing wrong with disappearing for years. Or working for someone their father despised.

  “You betrayed our family,” Teorin said bitingly, edging a little closer to the door.

  “No,” Marcus said vehemently. “Why do you think I’m doing all of this? For fun? Dad died, and Novem couldn’t even tell us the truth about what happened. This is for our family.”

  Teorin blinked. He hadn’t expected that response. Still… “A bunch of Heatsingers almost killed me an hour ago. And from the sound of it, you knew they were coming after me. If this is for your family,” Teorin spat, “What did you think they were going to do if they caught me?”

  Marcus raised an eyebrow. “First of all, like I said, I was hoping Jeron would send someone else. And second, you obviously got here. I did what I could to give you a sporting chance.”

  “So was your help the bullets or the throwing stars?”

  “Kathrine didn’t find you first then?”

  “I have no idea who Kathrine is. Were they supposed to introduce themselves or something?”

  “No, but you’d remember her. Scar across her cheek.”

  Circa. The name Kathrine didn’t fit her at all.

  Marcus’ expression turned almost smug. “You do remember her then.”

  “I remember her trying to kill me,” Teorin shot back, inching another step toward the runway door.

  Marcus actually looked caught off guard. “Really?”

  “Yes. She shot at me. Multiple times.”

  But also... that fight had been off. The burning fence. Kathrine not using her affinity to blast him with heat. Waiting so long to call for backup.

  And she had mentioned Marcus.

  Of course, she had also tried to put a bullet in his back. The evidence was still there, a bullet buried in his wings.

  Still, Marcus seemed genuinely thrown. “I... Sorry. I’d hoped—” He cut off, reconsidering. “I did what I could. I tried to get them off your tail, but I couldn’t do anything directly without tipping Sasha off.”

  “So your job is more important than making sure I’m not dead?” It was an attack, but Teorin was honestly shocked that Marcus had thought about this at all. Maybe he cared more than Teorin had assumed.

  “They were just supposed to deter you, not hurt you,” Marcus said.

  “I don’t know if Sasha can accomplish any task without hurting someone.”

  Marcus winced. He knew that was true. Then why was he still trying to keep up this good guy act?

  After a beat of silence, Marcus sighed. “It’s complicated. Maybe one day I’ll be able to explain.”

  “Of course it’s complicated. Everything is always complicated with you. But at the moment, I don’t care.” Teorin exhaled sharply. “Can we just get to the reason you’re here? If you’re after the drive, it doesn’t belong to you. And stealing is illegal, by the way, just in case your girlfriend told you otherwise.”

  “And what you’re doing isn’t illegal?” Marcus countered.

  Clearly, he was insane.

  “No. It isn’t,” Teorin said. “This outpost belongs to Novem.”

  “The building belongs to Novem. The stuff inside belongs to Trevor. Are you really going to steal the belongings of a missing man?”

  “It’s not like I’m going through his clothes or something!”

  “And the drive?”

  “He was the one who requested we pick it up!”

  Marcus cocked his head. “Are you sure?”

  Teorin hesitated. How was he even supposed to answer that? “That’s what I was told,” he said finally.

  Marcus’ brows pulled together. He almost looked... worried?

  Teorin wasn’t sure if he was reading that right, but the look passed quickly. After a moment, Marcus shook himself and said, “It belongs to the Rafinin family. Trevor had no right to give it away.”

  “Go file a lawsuit then,” Teorin shot back, inching closer to the door.

  Marcus looked like he was about to argue—

  But Teorin was close enough now. No more talking. He pulsed.

  Marcus dodged, easily.

  Teorin spun, blasting another pulse from his left hand as he sprinted for the door leading to the roof runway. He grabbed the handle and yanked.

  Stuck.

  Teorin growled in frustration. Locked. On purpose.

  He whirled back, ready to fire again—

  But Marcus had already stepped back, arms folded, palms turned toward his chest. A pulser’s sign of surrender.

  “Truce?” Marcus asked.

  “Does the truce involve me leaving with the drive?”

  “Sorry, but I can’t let you give it to Novem.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  Teorin narrowed his eyes. “Care to explain that?”

  Marcus shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “Then I can’t agree to a truce.”

  Marcus sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Then I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

  Teorin fired a pulse at the door. The lock rattled but held. Shockwaves weren’t great for breaking dense objects. The force spread outward instead of concentrating on the weak points.

  A pulse clipped Teorin’s shoulder, just enough to knock him off balance. He turned sharply. Marcus was giving him a reproving look, hand still raised.

  Bursts take him! Of the Davorn boys, Marcus had always been the most precise in his pulsing.

  Teorin fired back, a sharp concussive blast aimed squarely at Marcus’ chest.

  Marcus didn’t even try to dodge. One hand slammed forward, wrist twisting mid-motion, sending out a curved pulse. And with the other… he just raised it. He didn’t stumble. Didn’t even flinch.

  Then Marcus’ own pulse hit. Teorin staggered, feet sliding backward. Bursts. Marcus just absorbed that—while attacking.

  Curved pulses. Absorbing. Marcus couldn’t do that when they were younger. Fear crept down Teorin’s spine. Then it shifted.

  Not fear. Anger.

  His eyes flicked toward the window. If he could launch himself out and activate his wings in time, he might escape.

  Marcus followed his gaze, smirking. “If you want to try it, be my guest. It’ll be wildly entertaining.”

  “So generous,” Teorin muttered, weighing his options. The window wouldn’t work, not unless he could knock Marcus down first.

  “Always,” Marcus said, still smirking.

  Teorin lunged, pulsing at Marcus’ feet instead of his chest. Marcus reacted instantly, but instead of dodging, he rode the force, letting it slide him backward into the wall.

  Then, before Teorin could capitalize, Marcus pulsed behind himself, using the wall’s resistance to launch forward.

  Too fast.

  Teorin twisted away, barely dodging Marcus’ grasp, but now his brother was between him and the window.

  Teorin couldn’t win an extended fight. He pivoted toward the door, gathering all the power he had left. A focused, high-density pulse slammed into the lock. The force splintered the wood, making his ears ring. Almost there.

  But Marcus was too close.

  Teorin threw out a desperate pulse, forcing space between them. Marcus sidestepped, already moving to counter—

  But Teorin was ready for that. Instead of aiming forward, he pulsed low, sending a shockwave into the floor. The ground rippled, knocking Marcus off balance for just half a second. Long enough.

  Teorin surged forward, swinging. His fist connected—a solid, satisfying hit to Marcus’ ribs.

  Marcus stumbled. Not far, but enough for the surprise to register in his eyes.

  Finally. A hit. Something real. For once, he’d knocked Marcus off balance, not the other way around.

  Then, something was wrong. Heat surged through Teorin’s arm, spreading fast. His fingers twitched. His grip faltered.

  He hadn’t even registered the sting in his arm until now. His limbs dragged. Heavy. Unresponsive. His vision blurred at the edges, his body locking up mid-step.

  His gaze snapped to Marcus, fury spiking through the haze.

  That cheat.

  The small metal injector was still in Marcus’ hand. A chemical stun shot.

  Marcus grimaced, looking almost regretful. “Sorry, Teorin. I didn’t want it to go this way, but I can’t let you give that drive to Novem.”

  Teorin tried to curse at him, but his tongue felt thick, sluggish. His muscles burned. Locked. His legs buckled. He fought against it. A pulse flickered at his fingertips: one last shot.

  His arm barely lifted before his strength gave out. He expected to hit the floor.

  But Marcus caught him.

  Teorin whimpered. “Marcus.” His body slumped, dead weight against his brother’s grip.

  And then everything slipped away.