Aftermath

Kai had called them his siblings. I don’t know exactly when, maybe while he was still getting back to his feet. But they arrived quickly, storming into the house with urgency, brushing past blood and wreckage like it was routine. They always came when he needed a clean-up. When the damage was too big to ignore.

Now, the bodies are gone.

And Kai is being interrogated again, surrounded by the voices of those who know him too well. His brother's harsh tone, his sister's sharp questions, they understand him, and that’s exactly why they ridicule him. They know every pattern, every excuse. And they hate how often he makes them clean up the mess.

I can tell it grates on him. His fingers twitch. His eyes narrow. He stays quiet, but his silence is heavy.

No one has said a word to me.

Not even them.

No one questioned what I did, how or why. And maybe that’s what unsettles them the most. That I did it without flinching, without explanation.

Kai watches me. He always does. Trying to study me like I’m a code he can crack.

But he can’t.

And I like it that way.

I prefer not to be read, because people can’t hurt me if they can’t understand me.

That’s my greatest weapon.

Because strength draws fear, but mystery makes people hesitate. And hesitation is all the time I need.

So much talking.

My siblings always ridicule me after I do something they deem unethical. Every single time. Now, I understand, killing people isn’t exactly the most law-abiding thing anyone can do, but come on. They act like I’m reckless. Like, I don’t think things through. But everything I do is calculated. Maybe it doesn’t look that way, maybe it feels spontaneous, but it’s not. I know what I’m doing.

I’m not stupid.

And yet here they are, tearing into me again like I’m the problem. Like I’m the one dragging the family name through the dirt. Never mind that they’ve all killed too. They all have blood on their hands. Is it because I’m the youngest? Because they think I’ll break? Please. That ship sailed a long time ago. If they’re still trying to preserve what’s left of me, they’re late. Real late.

And you know what pisses me off the most?

No one’s questioned her. Not once. Not a single word was thrown her way. If they do, I’ll be furious—but the fact that they haven’t? That stings even more. Why am I the one getting burned alive under their judgment while she stands there untouched?

Maybe because she’s unreadable. Untouchable. They don't even know what to make of her.

She’s the break I need.

Two days later, we’re all sitting around the table, talking about what happened.

The murders. My siblings are showing up. The mess we’re all in now.

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