Chapter Twelve #2
Tane’s jaw tightened, the humor gone. “We’re going to talk about the Directorate. Names. Accounts. Movements. You’ll tell me everything you know.”
Victor tilted his head slightly. “And what do I get in return for story time?”
Tane threw his arms wide theatrically. “You get to keep breathing.”
The faint buzz of the light filled the silence that followed. Victor’s eyes drifted across the room—sharp lines, clean surfaces, a soldier’s space turned into an interrogation den. It felt like being inside a heartbeat that refused to stop.
“You built this yourself,” Victor said finally. “You do all your interrogations here?”
Tane’s eyes narrowed. “Most of them.”
“You any good at it?” Victor asked with a shrug. “Most interrogation parties I’ve been invited to usually come with a beat down. And yet you haven’t touched me. You never touch the people you question?”
Tane leaned back against the wall. “That a question or an accusation?”
“More of an observation,” Victor said evenly. “You’ve got all that strength, all that control, but you keep your distance with me. Why?”
Tane pushed off the wall, walking toward him. The air seemed to tighten with each step. “Perhaps I wanted to try something new. But I’m starting to rethink my decision.”
Victor chuckled softly, the sound low and tired. “You wouldn’t be the first to try.”
“What do you want, Victor?” Tane asked warily.
Victor hesitated, the silence stretching. “To know what it’s like.”
Tane frowned. “What what’s like?”
“Being part of something bigger, something better.” Victor said, eyes fixed on the floor. “A family. People who see you—not what you’ve done, not what they can use you for. Just you.”
The words hung heavy in the air. For a heartbeat, it was clear that Tane didn’t know what to say. He’d no doubt broken killers, smugglers, men who’d sold their souls and bragged about the price. But this time he hesitated.
“That’s not something I can teach you,” he said at last.
Victor smiled faintly. “I didn’t think so.”
The room filled with silence again, the sound of the sea a faint whisper beneath the garage hum.
“You should let me go,” Victor said suddenly.
Tane raised a brow. “That’s cute. I’ve never heard that one before”
“I’m serious. The Directorate’s not done. I can help stop them. But I can’t do that from this chair.”
Tane shook his head. “Not happening.”
Victor’s grin softened into something almost sad. “Pity. I’ll be sad to leave without the chance to say goodbye.”
“Don’t worry, sunshine,” Tane said with a grin of his own. “As you’ll be a guest with us for a while, no need to say goodbye.”
Before Victor could reply, Aunty’s voice bellowed from above. “Tane! Get upstairs for a plate before it gets cold, and make sure you bring food down to your little friend!”
Tane groaned. “Coming, Aunty!”
Victor laughed, the sound breaking the tension. “You’re being summoned.”
“Yeah, story of my life,” Tane muttered. “Thirty years old and still treated like a kid.” He shot Victor a glare. “Sit tight. Don’t go anywhere.”
Victor’s grin widened. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
When the door at the top of the stairs slammed shut, the silence returned, heavier than before. Victor exhaled, his breath loud in the stillness.
“Wasn’t lying,” he murmured. “I really will be sad to leave.”
He twisted his wrists slowly, feeling for slack.
Victor shifted, examining the wide metal cuff at his wrist, its lock glinting faintly in the half-light.
Tane’s cuffs were no joke—solid steel, key-locked, the kind used on men who couldn’t be trusted not to fight back.
Victor leaned forward, tilting his head, and worked the thin sliver of metal hidden behind his molars free with his tongue.
It was a piece of his old retainer, a habit from darker days.
He bent his head over the cuff and began to pick the mechanism, each tiny click loud in the silence, working notch by notch until it gave way with a quiet click.
He stood, stretching, the chain across his chest falling to the floor with a muted clink. His muscles ached from tension, but he ignored it, tucking his lucky charm back into its place and glancing toward the stairwell where laughter floated down through the vents—faint, warm, real.
A few minutes later, Kael and Drew appeared at the top of the stairs, voices low and companionable. They descended together, shadows moving over their faces in the half-light. Kael’s arm was bound in a sling, his shirt torn and bloodstained. Drew’s hair was a mess, his grin tired but genuine.
Victor stepped back into the corner, letting darkness swallow him. The two men crossed the room. Kael’s hand brushed Drew’s as they paused near the door.
“Give me a second,” Drew said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Kael stared at Drew for a moment, then his face shifted into an indulgent smile, as he shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Do what you have to, but don’t be long.” He kissed Drew quickly before stepping outside.
Drew turned then, his gaze landing on Victor’s hiding place. “You can go,” he said quietly. “Whatever you’re chasing—go find it.”
Victor froze. “You can see me?”
Drew smiled faintly. “You don’t hide as well as you think you do, Victor. And you don’t belong in chains. I know you’ve got something to make right.”
Victor’s voice was low. “I have to do this alone.”
“Maybe,” Drew said, his tone gentle but firm. “But you won’t always have to.” He turned back to the open door. “When you figure out who you are—come home. We’ll be here.”
Victor watched him go, the sound of laughter rising again from above. He stood for a long moment, staring at the empty stairwell, before whispering, “Home.” The word felt strange on his tongue—but not wrong.
He stepped into the night, the sea wind cool on his face, the faint glow of dawn brushing the horizon. For the first time in years, he had a direction. And this time, he meant to earn it.