Chapter 14
ETHAN
Atlas guided me through the grand corridors of Dominion Hall, my wet boots leaving faint impressions on the polished floors, the rain still clinging to my clothes like a lingering shadow.
The air inside held a weight, a blend of aged wood and a subtle tension that seemed to pulse through the walls, wrapping around me as we moved.
We paused at a heavy oak door, its carvings worn smooth by years of hands brushing past, and a staff member stepped aside as Atlas pushed it open with a quiet creak, motioning me inside.
The war room revealed itself slowly—long and dimly lit, centered by a massive table of dark walnut, its surface etched with the faint scars of maps and countless meetings.
The walls were lined with charts and screens, their soft glow casting shifting shadows across the space.
A low hum of electronics filled the room, mingling with the distant sound of rain tapping against the windows.
I stepped forward, my pulse steady but my thoughts churning, the encounter with the gray-suited man still fresh and unsettling in my mind.
One by one, the Dominion Hall brothers entered, each introduced by Atlas with a simple nod and a name that seemed to carry its own quiet authority.
First came Ryker, his broad frame carrying a rugged handsomeness, his jawline set with a quiet intensity that spoke of battles endured, his eyes restless yet thoughtful, his voice a low growl softened by a hint of dry humor.
Next was Marcus, his lean build marked by a tousled charm, his eyes glinting with a sharp, mischievous wit, his movements deliberate with a smartass edge that hinted at a mind always ready with a quip.
Atlas, his massive presence a steady anchor, his strong features framed by a calm that masked deeper currents, his voice a deep, resonant tone that filled the space.
Elias followed, his studious eyes sparkling with a rogue’s mischief, his hands moving with a restless energy.
Noah entered with a quiet grace, his tall form marked by a weathered handsomeness shaped by solitude, his steady gaze reflecting patience and precision, his silence speaking volumes.
Charlie strolled in, his relaxed posture exuding a warm, approachable demeanor, his easy smile lighting his face, his drawl smooth and teasing, suggesting a man who balanced charm with a steady resolve.
And then, almost unnoticed, Silas slipped into the room as the rest of us took a seat, his lean figure moving with a haunting stillness, his pale gray eyes holding a cold, lethal intent that spoke of a ghost thriving in the shadows—his voice a low, gravelly whisper, each word laced with a threat that lingered like smoke.
We settled into their chairs around the table, their eyes turning to me with a blend of curiosity and quiet assessment. I sat near the head, feeling the weight of their gazes, my damp clothes a stark contrast to their dry, composed appearances.
Atlas leaned forward, his hands resting on the table, and his voice broke the stillness. "Ethan, tell us exactly what happened."
I recounted it all—the light knock at Natalie’s door, the calm way the man in the gray suit had spoken my name, the casual shrug about a personal invite, the mention of Caleb and Jacob.
My voice remained steady, though I caught Marcus glancing at Ryker, a quick, unspoken exchange passing between them. When I finished, I turned to Marcus, my tone firm but measured. "What was that look for?"
Another glance flickered between Marcus and Ryker, a silent dialogue I couldn’t unravel. Ryker shifted slightly, his tone carrying a hint of impatience as he nodded toward Marcus. "Tell him."
Marcus leaned back in his chair, a smirk spreading across his face with a smartass gleam. "Maybe, just maybe, that gray suit guy is the same one Jacob and I ran into a few days ago. Could be a coincidence, but these days coincidences are like assholes, they’re popping up everywhere."
My blood stirred, a mix of relief and confusion rising within me. "My brothers? Where are they?"
The room grew quiet, a soft murmur rippling among the brothers as their heads dipped in a hushed exchange.
Then Silas’s voice cut through, a low, gravelly whisper that carried a dangerous weight, bringing a stillness to the space. "Tell him."
A heavy pause followed, the air thickening with anticipation. I looked around, the weight of their stares pressing down on me.
"Tell me what?" I asked, my voice low, a sense of dread beginning to settle in my gut. No one spoke at first, the silence stretching until it felt unbearable. "Is Jacob dead?" The question burst out, raw and urgent, my fists clenching against the table’s edge.
Atlas rose to his feet, his height filling the room, his hands lifting in a gesture meant to calm. "No, it’s nothing like that."
His tone was firm, intended to reassure, but it did little to quell the fire building inside me.
My patience frayed, and I brought my fist down onto the table, the sound reverberating off the walls.
In any other setting, that would have drawn gasps or disapproval—people recoiling, voices rising in protest. But here, nearly every face around the table broke into a grin, a shared amusement flickering in their eyes, as if they held a secret I hadn’t yet uncovered.
"What?" I demanded, my voice rough with a mix of frustration and confusion.
Atlas’s grin softened, his gaze steady on mine. "You’re one of us, Ethan."
I stared at him, the words failing to take root. "What the hell does that mean?"
More glances passed between the seven men, a silent understanding weaving through them.
An unease began to settle over me, a cold sensation creeping from my gut to my feet, as if I’d been led into a room meant to remain hidden, locked away and forgotten.
Atlas leaned forward, his voice low and deliberate. "Ethan, you’re one of us because we’re family. You, too."
I still didn’t grasp it, the unease digging deeper into my bones. "What are you talking about?" I pressed, my voice tightening with impatience.
Atlas held my gaze, his expression straightforward and unadorned. "Your brothers Jacob and Caleb already know. We’re all Danes—every one of us."
The words hung there, a puzzle that didn’t fit at first, a jumble that refused to align.
Then I looked around the room, meeting each pair of eyes—Ryker’s restless intensity, Marcus’s mischievous focus, Atlas’s commanding calm, Elias’s playful spark, Noah’s patient watchfulness, Charlie’s warm ease, and Silas’s cold, predatory glint.
And there it was, as clear as memory—the eyes of my father, that familiar crooked grin, the way he’d lean sideways in his office chair with one boot hooked over his knee, a habit I’d buried until this moment.
I’d felt it all along, a pull I couldn’t name, and for reasons I couldn’t yet explain, the anger I’d braced for didn’t surface.
Instead, a calm washed over me, a quiet acceptance settling into places I hadn’t known were empty.
"Well, I’ll be damned," I said, the words slipping out softly, carrying a weight of realization as the world inside me paused, the air thick with the promise of an unfolding future.