Chapter 26
twenty-six
Three steps forward, two steps back.
That was the pattern of Sabin’s recovery over the following weeks.
Days of clarity followed by hours of conditioning.
Breakthroughs followed by setbacks. The specialists kept adjusting their approach—trying new cognitive exercises, different medication combinations, even experimental neural stimulation techniques.
Through it all, Vivi remained constant. So did Dom.
On the bad days, when Sabin looked at her with cold, empty eyes and demanded to be released to “complete his mission,” Dom was there with a steady hand on her shoulder and quiet conviction that this wasn’t the end of the story.
On the good days, when Sabin recognized her instantly and asked about their parents or reminisced about old jobs they’d pulled, the sterile hospital room felt almost normal for a few precious hours.
Today was a good day. Sabin sat propped up in his hospital bed, restraints removed, eyes clear.
His smile was tentative, like he wasn’t quite sure he remembered how it worked, but it was real as he listened to Vivi’s stories about their childhood.
The specialists called it “memory anchoring,” this practice of sharing stories from his past.
“—and then you tried to convince Mama that the crawfish had climbed out of the pot themselves.” Vivi watched Sabin’s face for any flicker of recognition. “She was so mad she chased you around the yard with a wooden spoon.”
“Did she catch me?” he asked.
“Eventually. But she couldn’t stay mad when you gave her those puppy-dog eyes and said you were just trying to save the poor crawfish souls.”
Sabin’s brow furrowed in concentration. “I think... I remember the spoon. It had a chip in the handle.”
“Yes! Dad had dropped it on the tile floor the Christmas before.”
These moments were precious—Sabin fighting to reassemble the puzzle pieces of himself, clinging to memories that Praetorian had tried to erase.
“Tell me another one,” he said, shifting slightly in the bed. His injured hands—slowly healing from Raines’ torture—fidgeted with the edge of his blanket.
Vivi thought for a moment. “Remember the Lost Little Sister con? The first time we ran it on Bourbon Street?”
A spark lit in his eyes. “You were what, nine? Ten?”
“Nine,” she confirmed. “You had me crying on the sidewalk, pretending I was lost.”
“While I picked pockets in the crowd that gathered to help,” he finished, a ghost of his old mischievous smile appearing. “Three hundred dollars and a gold watch.”
“Dad would have killed us if he’d known.”
“Dad would have been proud of the technique and horrified at the application,” Sabin corrected, and for a moment, he sounded exactly like himself—the brother she’d grown up with, the partner she’d worked alongside for years.
She reached for his hand, careful of the healing fractures. “He’s coming today. Dad. To help with your treatment.”
Sabin’s smile faded, uncertainty clouding his features. “Does he know? About what we did?”
“Everything,” she admitted. “I told them everything after... after we got you back.”
He looked down at their joined hands. “How mad are they?”
“They’re not mad, Sabin. They’re worried. They want to help.” She squeezed his hand gently. “Mom’s been doing research non-stop. Dad’s pulled in every favor he had left from his CIA days to get information on the conditioning techniques.”
Sabin nodded slowly, then winced, pressing his free hand to his temple.
Vivi tensed. “You okay?”
“Just a headache.” But his voice had changed slightly, the words clipped at the edges. A warning sign she’d learned to recognize.
“Should I call Tessa?”
“No.” He took a deep breath. “No, I’m okay. Keep talking. The stories help.”
So she did, reaching back for memories from their childhood—crawfish boils and Mardi Gras parades, sneaking out to jazz clubs when they were teenagers, the time they’d “borrowed” their father’s car and gotten stuck in mud up to the wheel wells.
With each story, Sabin seemed to relax, the tension easing from his shoulders, the pain lines around his eyes softening.
When Dom appeared in the doorway an hour later, Sabin greeted him with a nod of recognition. Another small victory.
“How’s the patient?” Dom asked, entering the room carefully. His sling was gone, but he still moved with the cautious awareness of someone in pain.
“Better,” Sabin said, studying Dom with clear eyes. “Sorry I shot you.”
Dom’s startled laugh brightened the sterile room. “Well, technically, you were aiming for your sister, so I’m not sure the apology should be directed at me.”
Sabin winced. “I have a lot to make up for.”
“I’m not keeping score,” Dom replied with a lopsided smile. “Getting shot for someone is basically a Tuesday in this family.”
“Dom!” Vivi glared at him, but there was no heat behind it.
“What? If we can’t joke about getting shot, what can we joke about?”
Sabin’s gaze shifted between them, something thoughtful settling in his expression. He cleared his throat. “Vivi, could you... could I talk to Dom for a minute? Alone?”
The request caught her off guard. Sabin had barely let her out of his sight on his good days, as if afraid his lucidity might vanish the moment she stepped away. She glanced at Dom, who looked equally surprised but gave her a small nod.
“Sure.” She tried to keep her voice casual despite the worry bubbling up. Was this a good sign or the beginning of another episode? “I should check in with Mom anyway. She’s been texting non-stop about some new research paper.”
She squeezed Sabin’s hand once more before rising from her chair. “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
“I know,” Sabin said softly. “You always are.”
Dom waited until the door clicked shut behind Vivi before turning his attention back to Sabin. The guy’s expression had turned grim. Whatever he wanted to discuss without his sister present, it wasn’t going to be light conversation about crawfish boils or childhood antics.
“She hovers,” Sabin said, eyes tracking to the door as if making sure Vivi wasn‘t lingering just outside. “Always has.”
Dom moved to the chair Vivi had vacated, lowering himself carefully to avoid jarring his shoulder. The wound was healing, but the pain remained a constant companion, flaring at the slightest provocation. “She was worried about you. Still is.”
“I know.” Sabin looked down at his hands, fingers still splinted where Raines had broken them. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said, his voice dropping. “In case I disappear into that other guy again and don’t make it back.”
“Man, don’t talk like that. You’re getting better every day.”
“I’m not getting better.” Sabin’s voice had an edge Dom hadn’t heard since they’d brought him back—something raw and desperate. “I’m just getting better at pretending.”
Dom leaned forward. “What are you talking about?”
Sabin glanced toward the door again, then lowered his voice further. “It’s still there. The programming. The... other me. I can feel him waiting, watching. When I sleep, he takes over. When I get tired or stressed, he pushes forward.” He tapped his temple with a splinted finger. “He’s always here.”
The specialists had warned them the conditioning might never fully disappear—but he’d been doing so well, it hadn’t seemed like a real possibility. “Does Vivi know?”
“No.” Sabin’s gaze darted toward the door again. “And you can’t tell her.”
“Sabin—”
“No. Listen to me. I might not get another chance to tell you this.”
The intensity in his tone made Dom straighten in his chair, the pain in his shoulder momentarily forgotten. “What is it?”
“When they had me, I recognized one of the guards. Tall. Dark hair. Blue eyes. And a phoenix tattoo, right here.” He touched the side of his neck, just below his collar.
A cold ripple of unease traveled down Dom’s spine. “No.”
“When I saw him, I said his name out loud. I couldn’t help it.” Sabin’s eyes had taken on a feverish intensity. “He went completely still. Like I’d hit him with a stun gun.”
The ripple of unease became a wave. “What name did you call him?”
But he knew even before Sabin said, “Brennan.”
All the oxygen left the room in an instant. His lungs refused to expand. His brain stuttered.
Brennan was dead.
Had been for two years.
They‘d had a funeral. A flag-draped coffin. Taps playing as Weston stood utterly still beside their devastated parents, and Tessa cried, and Cade looked like he’d wanted to put his fist through something.
“That’s not—” Dom’s voice broke. He cleared his throat and tried again. “That’s not possible.”
“It was him, mon ami.”
“Did he...” Dom struggled to form coherent questions as his mind raced. “Did he acknowledge you? Speak to you?”
“No.” Sabin plucked restlessly at the blanket. “When I said his name, he left the room immediately. Didn‘t come back. I never saw him again.”
This couldn’t be happening. Brennan was dead. The notification had come through official military channels. Uncle Cam and Aunt Eva had been destroyed by the loss. Weston had never been the same. Tessa had thrown herself into healing everyone around her. And Cade...
Cade had gone off the rails.
But what if he wasn’t dead?
“I haven’t told Vivi,” Sabin continued. “I wanted to tell you first because...” He hesitated. “Because it’s your family. Your cousin. I thought you should decide what to do with this.”
Fuck. He needed to tell Davey. And they needed confirmation before they dropped this bomb on the family. Before they shattered Weston and Tessa’s world all over again. Before they gave Uncle Cam and Aunt Eva hope that might be crueler than the grief they’d been living with.
“There’s one more thing.” Sabin’s voice had dropped again.
“When I said his name, when he went still... there was a moment, Dom. Just a flash, but I swear I saw recognition. The same kind of recognition I feel when I break through this... fog in my head. Like someone who’s been buried alive suddenly getting a gasp of air. ”
“You think he’s like you.”