I checked my watch. “It’s only, what, eight p.m.? Are you sure none of the lights are on?”

“Except the guard tower, yeah.” My brother said, folding up his binoculars and stowing them deep into his jacket. I swear, the guy must have an entire pocket dimension stuck in there. “They haven’t spotted us yet, but I’m really not liking our chances of sneaking inside.”

I blinked. “You were considering that option?”

He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair. We were sitting outside a seedy looking bar, which unfortunately appeared to be the shining summit of Crocus’s nightlife. I finished the far too sugary lemonade and set the glass down. One the whole, I’d give the drink about a five out of ten, but the curly straw did bump it up a point or two.

“If Ms. Vior truly was a member of the Iris, then that turns the chances of her being… overlooked by the Eye to nearly zero.” He drummed his fingers against the table. “Which means we can’t afford to waste too much time here.”

“As you so helpfully reminded me this morning, we can’t afford to do something stupid and get ourselves shot.” I tried to lift my arm off the table only to discover that decades worth of spilled beers and subpar cleaning had stuck my sleeve to the surface. “Although at this point, I think knocking on the front door to that compound would be preferable to staying at this bar.”

“The snacks aren’t so bad, though.” He said, finishing his bowl of peanuts and brushing some red powder off his fingers. “But about knocking on the front door…hmm. I think you just gave me an idea. It’s a long shot, though, and it’ll probably have to wait till morning.”

Which meant the two of us had a free night. Huh. That doesn’t happen often in the middle of a case. Crocus proclaims itself as a city in its own right, but honestly I think it’s just delusional. It’s too manicured, especially on the outside. People greeted each other on the street and showed off their babies or their new shoes. Even the grimy bits like the pub felt more like deliberate local flavoring than anything else.

Dinner was grilled cheese sandwiches and steaming paper cups of tomato soup, eaten whilst sitting on the pier at the edge of the lake. There was a carnival not too far away that was still in full swing, complete with blinding spotlights that lit up the clouds and that tinny Beethoven music that always ends up playing in your head for weeks.

A couple of kids holding dripping ice cream cones had surrounded a nearby street performer, squealing about her trained monkey. My brother grimaced, clearly resisting the urge to correct them, because I was pretty sure the furry black creature scampering over its handler’s shoulders was actually a lemur.

I took another draught of soup. The sandwich was cold and greasy, but this soup really hit the spot, warming my insides up like a sauna. I sighed contentedly then stared out across the lake.

Suddenly the compound of the Eye of Eternal Freedom came into few, a dark speck on the horizon, surrounded by specks of light. Easy to overlook, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of it now. “I’ve been thinking about what you said about the people that the Eye recruits. That cults always target people at their most vulnerable. But like, that’s not really true is it? I mean, I’ve seen those people go door to door, and most of those doors get shut in their faces.”

Ryan drained his cup and laid it down beside him, where a gust of wind sent it flying into the lake. “Well, there’s always going to be exceptions, even in the nicest of neighborhoods. Also, I’ve always presumed that in some ways, the rejection is kind of the point. I mean, when that becomes those people’s primary interaction with the outside world…”

I stood up, stuffing the sandwich wrapper back in my pocket. “Yeah, I get it. Shouldn’t we be finding someplace to sleep? I can’t imagine there are too many hotels around here.”

Even as we walked away from the lake, I couldn’t help taking one last glance back at the black speck in the distance. Was that orange dot near the top the light of the watchtower? Were those guards we’d glimpsed earlier staring at the carnival lights even now, with their rifles at their sides?

My hand went to the Smith and Wesson in my jacket, the smooth metal a cold comfort in my grip. At the right time, and for the right reasons. It was Keigo’s voice, but somehow I saw his wife instead, grinning at me as she hung the hat on top of the fireplace, the bullet hole facing the front doors.

The memory rattled in my head all the way across town and into the room we’d sleep in for the night. Ryan had picked a swanky looking place, with fur rugs and antelopes hung up everywhere and orange juice served in the lobby. He’d claimed it was the cheapest place that still had free rooms, which seemed impossible until we actually saw the room. There were some creature comforts in there, like a TV and a hairdryer and those tiny shower gel and conditioner bottles. It was also so small that our twin beds were about two inches apart from each other.

With this kind of case and this kind of client, I would’ve felt restless even when sleeping back home. But in this hotel room I was starting to feel downright claustrophobic. When Ryan curled up in his bed with a few folders from his backpack, I slipped out of the door and walked down the stairs.

It must’ve been later at night than I’d thought, or maybe Crocus just didn’t have many night owls amongst its tourists. Either way, I didn’t meet anyone until I stepped out into the courtyard. It was as cramped as the rest of the building, with only a few flickering lamps and scattered flowerpots to brighten up the space. I looked around a little nervously, wondering if there were any security guards around here I could warn before doing what I was planning to do next. I wouldn’t have much of a chance to explain myself if they got the wrong idea, if they gave me a chance at all.

Still, the place looked deserted. With the high walls around the courtyard, and the large spikes on top of them, I doubted these people were worried much about burglars. Probably.

I took a few deep breaths and unholstered my pistol. It felt like second nature. I’d done it a million times over the years, hadn’t I? But that hadn’t stopped Ryan from swatting the gun away like a bug and knocking me back with a tap on the ear.

He’d once told me that most fights, most real fights, end within less than a minute. Today was the first time I had actually understood what that meant. If I was going to be useful tomorrow, if I was going to make an actual difference, then I had to make sure I could draw and fire within the space of a second.

I checked to see if the gun was empty, looked around one more time, then holstered it again. All right, Dylan. Starting on one, two…

“You’re too tense.” A voice said behind me, and I nearly jumped out of my sneakers. “Loosen your muscles up a bit, or you’ll end up freezing at the wrong moment.”

“Because the first guy I should be taking gunmanship tips from is Mr. Pacifist.” I muttered. “I’ve dryfired before, you know.”

There wasn’t enough light in the courtyard for me to study my brother’s expression, but he didn’t seemed particularly fazed by my hostility. “Start more slowly as well. I know you took to this kind of thing like a natural, but that’s exactly why the best way to help yourself at this point is to choreograph your movements more precisely. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. By the end it needs to become muscle memory.”

Part of me had plenty of snappy comebacks to that last bit, but the rest was tired enough that I just wanted to get this over with. I adjusted my posture, spreading out my legs just a bit more, than drew and pointed towards the blood red bricks of the wall in front of me. Then I holstered it again.

I’m not entirely sure how many times I did it. I kind of lost track after a while, ending up just moving with the rhythm of the process, losing myself in it as much as I could. If my brother had been counting, he didn’t deem it fit to tell me a number, either. All I know is that by the time I climbed the stairs back up to our room, I was tired to the bone, and when I slept I endured a soundless dream, adrift in curling tongues of flame that seemed to shift into a lake of poison. I’ve had experience with both in my time.

But the last image of all was my brother sipping from a teacup, and tipping his hat in front of me, cowboy-style. But the hole in the hat was still steaming, the blood still dripping down his shirt, and his eyes were yellowish and glassy in the way only the dead can be.

I woke up with a throbbing head and my brother’s hand on my shoulder. He tossed something on the bed. A hanger and a… clothes bag?

“Put on the suit.” He said, adjusting his tie in the mirror. “I had to estimate your measurements a bit, but I think I did a decent job.” He tugged on the cuffs of his shirt. “Another perk of all those sewing lessons, I suppose.”

“What the hell are you planning?” I demanded, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. “Taking the Eye to court or something?”

“Oh, nothing so convoluted.” I saw the flash of gold in something in his hand. He turned it over showing me the card of an FBI badge.

——————————————————————————————————

I blame Tyrone, really. He was an agent who from what I’ve heard was still much lauded in the FBI for the accomplishments of his career. The dude became practically family to us at one point, too. Neither of those things meant he was trustworthy. He was the sort of person who helps me sleep better at night just by knowing he’s not my enemy.

With that kind of influence, no wonder Ryan thought pulling off a bluff like this was a good idea. It’s not exactly out of character for him to do, and that was the most thought I gave to that aspect of the matter. And yes, that was not very smart of me.

Ryan leaned down and studied my shoes. “They look a bit too polished. Knock them against the wall a bit, scuff ’em enough that you could buy someone was wearing these everyday to work.”

“It’s telling that in spite of all my youthful experimentation, I’ve never been able to compete with your talent in finding new and fascinating ways to break the law.” I said, putting on a pair of cufflinks. “And aren’t these suits rented, anyway?”

Ryan conveniently ignored that comment by stepping out into the hallway. I sighed, and checked my profile in the mirror. I looked older, probably because of the stubble on my chin and hair that had been just on the verge of curling for the last few months now. Perhaps the scruffiness would add a grim and realistic flavor to the disguise. Chuckling to myself, I followed Ryan outside.

“So, how are we feeling about the whole, ‘our client actually grew up to become one of Pupil’s lieutenants’ thing?” I asked as we stepped out into the cacophony of the street. Crocus had turned a lot dustier and more chaotic during the morning rush hour, and consequently it made me like a lot more. It felt like somewhere real people lived in, at least.

Ryan was still mulling over my question. “I think ‘lieutenant’ is a strong word here, Dy. We don’t know exactly how many members the Iris contained. It’s possible there’s another few levels on the pyramid. Pupil, Iris… maybe something like the Cornea or Retina?”

“God, I hope not.” I said. “Well, I mean, all of this explains why she was reluctant to actually let us investigate this stuff. She was probably terrified of him finding out. But the question I’m really asking you is this: do you want to keep looking into this?”

My brother was silent. I continued on anyway, squeezing myself between two delivery drivers with bundles of packages in their arms. “This is a pro bono case, and it’s not like we signed any official agreement or anything. If you don’t want to protect a woman who was helping out a guy like Pupil… well, no one would blame you for that.”

We kept walking. I looked up and could actually see the compound in the distance, each step bringing us inexorably closer to a confrontation that could end in prison time or a painful death. Or both.Why limit our imagination here?

“There’s something of a grand conundrum baked into the heart of human leadership.” My brother told me. “It’s most noticeably in cults, sure, but it comes up in any group or tribe. That the more hideous a thing you command people to do, the more antithetical an order is to what people value…”

“The more people leave?”

“Some, yeah. But if you can wheedle the others into staying, the remainder becomes more valuable. Easier to bend into the shape you want them to be.”

“Sunk cost fallacy, right?” I said, trying to prod him along towards whatever point he was trying to make. If he did have a wider point he was trying to make at all. “The more you’ve invested in something, the more you’re willing to invest, because what else do you have left now?”

“Exactly. And that essential push and pull is going to be the center of any leader’s strategy. The breadth and depth of influence. And, ah, here we are.”

We stood in front of the iron gates, watching the words carved across the top: True freedom comes through service. I have to admit I wasn’t impressed with the guards at first glance. Long and scraggly haired, with tie-dyed shirts and rusty rifles slung across their shoulders. But there was a wildness in their eyes, a vicious breed of desolation, and suddenly I felt a lot less confident about my chances against them in a fight.

Ryan flipped out the fake badge. They didn’t even ask any questions, about it either, their expressions hardening in a way that suggested they weren’t very impressed. Then one of them lifted his phone to his ear and his eyes widened. He barked out an order I couldn’t make out properly, and the rest opened the gates, arguing with each other in furious whispers.

It was at that my point I realized that I knew absolutely nothing about what we were getting into. But too late! I couldn’t risk asking Ryan any more questions now, not with our helpful escort trailing us into the compound.

The interior was covered with similar murals to the ones in the office building, so many they must’ve taken years to complete. Yet now they were cracked and peeling, the paint permanently bleached from the sunlight.

Most of the compound’s inhabitants shrank away at our gaze, and all I got a look at was the equipment they’d left behind. There was a whole production line they’d set up for washing clothes with water from the lake. Wasn’t that a butter churn over there? The whole place would’ve felt charmingly rustic, if half the equipment weren’t still in pieces. If I didn’t see the palpable desperation in everyone’s eyes, even the ones giving the orders. Maybe especially them.

I could still see the inherent appeal of the place, under all the tension. Being self sufficient, having a warm, vibrant community… people miss those things in the modern world for a reason. I know that Ryan said that people like Pupil preyed on the most vulnerable.

But I have to – had to – believe that ordinary people could be drawn into this too. Because the alternative was that all these people had a better excuse than me for what they had done. That they hadn’t nearly blown an innocent woman’s head off because they thought a few beers before walking into the shooting club just wouldn’t hurt.

I caught a glimpse of one of the community’s children being drawn out of sight. She looked all right, if you ignored the shadows under her eyes and those too-sharp cheekbones. I gritted my teeth and kept my head down.

We were led into a surprisingly normal office, with framed pictures and staplers and everything. A man in his late forties sat on the desk, wearing glasses with silvery white frames and fiddling with his man-bun.

He looked up, and his right eye twitched just a little. “Leave us, Manfred.” He told the guard at the door.

“Honored Iris, are you sure –”

“Yes.” He said, and there was definitely something frantic about the word. He even got up after Manfred left to see if the door was closed properly. “Ahem,” he said, “right. You gents are a long way from Washington, you know. What brings you here? I’m Jorge Watkins. I’m sure Mr. Pupil’s spoken a lot about me to your superiors.” He suddenly looked a little uncertain. “I mean, um, if he hasn’t I suppose there’s no need to overstate things.”

Ryan leaned forward and slipped his phone out of his pocket. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard the news, Mr. Watkins? It only came out on TV early this morning, but in this modern age you never how quickly information gets out.”

“I, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” If so, the look in those yellowish eyeballs of his made it clear he had a very good idea of what was coming.

My brother clicked on a video, and held it up. Watkins and I both leaned in to hear a news announcer declare that last night Cillian Pupil had been arrested by the FBI. I understand Ryan’s obsession to keeping people around him on their toes, probably better than anyone else, but did he really think I didn’t need to know about this?

It was almost ridiculous timing, too, but judging from Watkins’s face this was more of a confirmation of a long held fear more than anything else. I thought about the abandoned office building. How long had Pupil been speaking with the FBI? How long had the Eye of Eternal Freedom been slowly cannibalizing itself?

Ryan clicked off the video and leaned in. “They raided most of the compounds on the East Coast of the US this morning. They got one in England. Hell even the original in Australia.” He tutted. “No matter which way you slice it, Mr. Watkins, your boss has become a turncoat. The only question that matters here is: when do you think we’ll come for you?”

Watkins licked his lips. “Well, if there’s anything, anything I can do to help you gentlemen, just say so. I’m sure I can find a way to help out.”

That was practically begging for a retort, but for once I didn’t want to interrupt my brother. We were on thin ice in this whole situation. There was just too much I just didn’t know. One wrong comment and Watkins could call in the guards and riddle us with bullets. Maybe they had another room in this place that they regularly scrubbed with bleach.

Ryan checked his nails. “What we’re currently most concerned with at the moment is containing any collateral damage from the disbandment of the Eye. Like, for instance, any killings that have been authorized recently.”

“I assure you I haven’t ordered such a thing myself. But there are evil, truly evil people in the Iris, good sir. And even Mr. Pupil himself… I’ve been afraid for my life more than once.”

“Evidently.” Ryan said. “So you’re not aware of any operation happening in the City right now? Think carefully before you answer.”

“There is, erm, one I know of. Higher up people than I organized it, of course, especially because Ms. Brown was a former member of the Iris. Maryssa Brown.”

“Hmm.” My brother stood up. “So they’ve already been deployed? How many people were sent?”

“Two. Maybe three if we think somebody’s under protection, but usually that’s not – ” He paused. “Can we make this official?”

“What?” I said. It was such a bizarre thing to say, especially in this situation.

He cleared his throat. “I said, I’d like to sign something before I say anymore. I mean, I have… a lot to tell you about these things. The weapons we gave them, the training they had, the members who went there. And that’s only the tip of the iceberg! Even if you are already know what Mr. Pupil said, I can… corroborate everything he said, yes, yes.”

That spark of hope in his eyes was worse than just pathetic. It was that kind of evil that’s nauseating precisely because it’s so easily understood. Who doesn’t want to be the lucky rat who escapes the sinking ship? Ryan just stared back at him. “Perhaps, Mr. Watkins, perhaps. Take good care of your little flock here, and we’ll be back in a few more days.”

Even a blind man would’ve understood what that expression meant, but Watkins grabbed the lifeline with everything he had. “Right. Manfred! Escort these gentlemen out of here please! Give them anything they ask.” He flopped back into his office chair, and started stuffing papers into his briefcase.

Manfred and his buddies led us out with just as little fanfare as before, but I couldn’t help looking at the whole place differently.

Pupil had done a flawless job of isolating most of the people here, but they’d hear the news eventually. What would they do, in that moment? Run? Hide? Fight the men with the guns to burst through a gates or do something even worse? I shivered, unable to stop looking for the kid with the shadows under her eyes, but before I knew it the gates were slammed behind us with a deafening clang.

Ryan didn’t say a word until we were a few blocks away from the compound. “We have to get back to the Viors.” My brother said at last. “The worst may have already happened.”

“What about the worst that might happen over here?” I demanded. “You’re seriously not worried at all about what these people might do under that asshole?”

I was afraid. No, more than that. I was furious. There’s a saying we have in America. “Drinking the Kool Aid.” We say it as a byword for unquestioning obedience, and it sounds like it has a fun, maybe slightly archaic origin. Not over nine hundred people drinking fruit juice laced with cyanide.

My brother’s expression softened when he saw that fear in my eyes. “The end of the Eye’s been a long time coming, Dylan. I don’t think it’ll shock too many people into doing something drastic, especially with this kind of spineless leader here at the helm. But still…” He shrugged helplessly. “You’re right. There’s always that risk. But there’s only so much we can do without the help of the authorities, and in this case they’re already involved.”

He peeled open part of his collar, and I saw the glimpse of a wire. “You had a hidden mic with you?” I asked. How much stuff did that man carry in that backpack of his?

“Yeah. I mean, the recording’s not evidence that’ll hold up well in court. But I reckon I can get some use out of it.” He sighed. “I can’t guarantee it’ll make much of a difference there. But with what we know now, I might be able to make it in time to help the Viors.”

“We might, Ryan.” I said, stepping up to the curb and holding out my arm for a taxi. “You can’t drag me along on this wild goose chase and not expect me to be there for the finale.”

——————————————————————————————————

It took most of the journey to convince Ryan to call the police.

“Look,” I said at last. “I totally agree there’s a chance the Eye has a few members among the cops. But with all the chaos going down right now, do you really think the guys they paid off will be able to do much at all? There’s a good chance they’ve already sworn off the Eye completely. I say it’s a risk worth taking.”

He nodded, if a little reluctantly, and started to dial. “Sound reasoning, I suppose.”

The call took a nerve-wracking few minutes, with Ryan mostly arguing with the detective on the other side before hanging up. “So, that’s over and done with. Here’s what we know right now: the last update Iqbal sent me was that Florian Vior’s been called in for a day shift.”

I took out my pistol and loaded in a clip. “Probably for the best. Is Iqbal still on the premises?”

“Yeah. I’m thinking of heading to our apartment first, calling in a few more favors, give ourselves some solid backup outside of the police. And –” There was an audible beep from his phone, and the screen flashed red. My brother swore. “And Iqbal just sent out an alarm. Shit.”

“No time for backup, then.” I said slowly, my fingertip brushing the surface of the Smith and Wesson’s safety catch. “We’ll have to go there ourselves.” I leaned forward and tapped the separator between us and the taxi driver. “Hey man, we’re going to have a quick change of route. And if you don’t mind, it’s best that we pay you while you’re still driving?” Somehow I doubted I’d have time to count out change once we arrived.

The car seemed to move in slow motion, the streetlights heading up past in a blur. All the sounds outside were faint, until we rolled outside a small, cheerful little house and I opened the door to hear a gunshot.

They’re always so much louder than you get in the movies.

I don’t know if all the practice last night made a difference, but it felt like my gun sprang into my grip of its own accord. I lifted it up and slammed the door shut behind me, and I heard the revvingg of the taxi as it receded far into the distance. Smart driver, I gotta say.

I was internally begging to hear sirens, or screaming, or something as we walked up the steps. The door was still ajar, and it creaked loudly even as I gently pushed it aside.

The dead man had fallen across the couch, salt-and-pepper hair spread over the cushions, and his body turned to the side so I couldn’t see his face. The pool of blood was darker than I expected it to be, somehow. Almost more black than red. His black clothing and the gun still in his grip made me fear the worst, but Ryan didn’t seem particularly concerned, so I decided it couldn’t be Iqbal.

Nope, instead we found the bodyguard lying on the floor in the kitchen, gritting his teeth as he held a handkerchief to his wound. Ryan leaned down beside him, pulling out a first aid kit, but Iqbal waved him away. He was a burly man in his early fifties, with oak brown skin and a nose curved like the beak of a vulture. He gave us a look that was equal parts furious and relieved, then pressed a finger to his lips and pointed down the hallway. Sure enough, I could hear faint voices in that direction. Iqbal pointed down the hallway again, then raised his finger. One gunman, then. Or gunwoman?

Ryan pointed at me, and did a circular motion with his fingers. He wanted me to go around the house? How the hell were these people going to defend themselves if our last guy came out here? When I tried to express this question without words, my brother only rolled his eyes and patted the fabric of his jacket.

I cursed under my breath, but decided I really wasn’t in a position to question orders. I exited the living room, stepping over the plush carpet and ducking my head under the wind chimes, then went outside. No sign of the police yet, but there was at least one nervous looking passerby, holding a fat tabby in her arms. I waved at her, then pressed a finger to my lips. She took off running across the street. Again, probably for the best.

All right, Dylan. Around the house we go.

I don’t have my brother’s talent for moving silently. I heard the swishing of my legs through the overgrown grass and constantly worried if someone would hear my movements. It’s not like I could afford to take my time out here, either.

Yet for all that, part of me hummed along with the roar of blood in my ears and my heart thumping in my chest, and felt a kind of contentment. My gun felt perfect in my hands, an instrument I knew from inside out.

The right time, for the right reasons. What could be a better reason than this?

I could hear a male voice I didn’t recognize speaking. “You got a reason to give me, Mari, huh?”

Then Maryssa Vior her voice trembling. “I – I can’t…”

There was an open window, right there on the side. I flicked off the safety catch on my Smith and peered through it.

They were both facing the doorway, and I couldn’t see either of them too well, given the window was off to the side, and all the available light came through that window. The only thing I could make out was a young man with his arm around Ms. Vior’s throat and a gun to her head.

It would be a tricky shot from any other angle. But I could do it, I knew I could. I raised the gun, lined myself up with the sights. Just another target, I told myself, though I almost couldn’t hear my own thoughts through the sound of my own heartbeat. Just another target. What’s another bullseye out of the thousands you’ve made already? Just squeeze the trigger and -

“Good afternoon, Mr. Vior.” My brother said, stepping into the doorway. His arms were raised, with his hands raised and his palms open.

“That’s not my name.” The man said in his gravelly voice, pressing his gun harder against Maryssa’s head. She gave a little gasp, but didn’t dare say anything else.

“Mr. Brown, sorry.” Ryan bowed his head a little in contrition. ‘I forgot that wasn’t the name you grew up with. But I am right, aren’t I? This woman here… the one you’re about to kill… she’s your big sister, isn’t she?”

I suddenly had a flash of memory to the article we’d passed around in that office building. The one that said the Viors’ mother had been murdered, and then subsequently survived by her children. I hadn’t thought too hard about it at the time, but that article had been published with Violetta Brown, the woman’s false name the Eye had given her. That other child couldn’t have been Florian, the one who’d been taken away as a baby.

“What does it matter?” The man said, his voice sullen and full of desperation. “It’s all falling apart – there’s no point to any of it now. Who cares who she really is? Who cares about who I am anymore?”

“I do.” Ryan said. “Your parents joined the Eye of Eternal Freedom when they were young, and when the two of them reached a disagreement, your father left with Florian, your brother. Neither of them ever knew your mother had been pregnant at the time, did they?”

‘No.” Maryssa, trying to choke down a sob as she spoke, “she never said anything to them about you, Jamie.”

“Nobody asked you to talk!” Jamie Brown said, pressing the muzzle of the gun against her hair. The gun trembled in my grip. There was so much bitterness and resentment in that voice. This didn’t seem like an idle threat to me, not a negotiation tactic. This man had entered this house to kill her. Whatever happened next would’ve been beyond his concerns.

Wasn’t this what Ryan was trying to do? Buy me enough time to line up a proper shot?

“Your brother - the other one, Ms.Vior - hired me to figure out what kind of threat you were under from the Eye. But when he brought it up earlier, you immediately shut down, didn’t you? At first I thought it was because you were too ashamed to admit you were a member of the Iris, but it goes deeper than that.

“What does a leader do to turn a mere member of the cult into a worthy subordinate? They choose the right test. Something they know nobody can come back from without revealing their true loyalties. That was the test that got you into the Iris, wasn’t it? They asked you to kill your mother.”

Maryssa Vior was sobbing openly now, wild desperate sobs that didn’t hold anything back. Ryan’s gaze switched to Jamie Brown. “And you were the next one in the cycle, weren’t you? That’s why they assigned you to kill her too.”

“Damn straight.” The man snarled, with gritted teeth. His gun gleamed in the afternoon sunlight, an old Beretta with long, deep scratches along the barrel. It had been terribly cared for, but I had no doubt it would still fulfil its purpose without a hitch. “Only that’s all gone to shit now, hasn’t it? I think Mari figured it out. That’s why she ran away, trying to live in this fancy house with Florian and forget everything she ever did. But I didn’t fit in that rosy new life, so she had to leave me behind. So you understand, don’t you, copper? I’m a killer. She’s a killer. That’s why she has to go down with me.”

Ryan sighed. “Maryssa isn’t the first job you were convinced to do, is she?”

The other man laughed out loud. ‘Job? I think you mean a Grand Mission of Justice, sir! I mean, why not, right? These people, they’re all the family I have left. Why shouldn’t I kill for them? They did such a good job of dressing it up as righteous, too.” He wiped his face on his sleeve. “In for a penny, in for a dollar. Are you judging me, copper? Have you ever shot anyone before? Not a shithead pedophile or anything, but a real living person, with a family and all that crap? It’s not so bad, once you get a little used to it. Once you shut their faces out of your head. ”

“Yeah.” Ryan said. “I did. I’ve killed someone who didn’t deserve it. Pointed the gun, pulled the trigger, the whole works. I don’t think it was my bullet that killed her. I hope not, anyway. But yes, Mr. Vior. I’ve made that choice.”

No one said anything in the few seconds that passed. Then Jamie’s face hardened. “So you’re a crooked copper, then?”

“I’m not a policeman, Mr. Vior. Not now, and not ever. But to answer the intent behind your question, no. I shot my cousin because I thought I didn’t have any choice. Because I thought this was the only way to save other people. That doesn’t make any of it right.” He sighed. “Hell, I never even got to know her. But what I do know is she saved someone I cared about, and the way I rewarded her was with a bullet to the face.”

I was the one who she had saved. I think I need to mention that, before we move on. It was a very long time ago, and it was never my story to tell, but I needed to tell you what that story meant to me. And the kind of person I am for not thinking about it, after calling my brother a coward for not wanting to murder people.

“When I was younger,” My brother said, and something broke in his voice within that moment. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I didn’t want to kill a single person, and I never thought I’d have to. That I’d always find a third option, but the one time I didn’t was the one time it mattered most.”

“What’s the point of this sob story then, copper?” Jamie Brown asked, though his voice was shaky as he said it. “Trying to relate to me now, are you? Saying we’re one and the same, ain’t it?”

My brother took a step forward. “I’m saying I understand how it feels to cross a line. To think you’ve caused so much pain that a little more just won’t mean much in the wider scheme of things. You hurt someone you love that much, you hurt someone that good and kind, what’s the point of holding back for anyone else? How can you get more broken than you already are?”

“So what?” The man demanded. “What’s your point? You think a guy like me can fix his mistakes, just like that?” He snapped his fingers, and the sound echoed across the room.

“No, I don’t think so.” Even the pain in Ryan’s voice rose like sirens’ music, commanding every person present to listen, and listen well. “Take it from someone with personal experience. There’s nothing any of us can do to reverse that damage, or take away those scars. You can’t do it. Not really.”

What was he doing? If he was trying to talk this guy down, why the hell was he saying the exact thing that would push him off the edge? My finger tightened on the trigger. You don’t need to tug it very hard, you know. If anything, that might damage the mechanism over time. Just squeeze just a little, and then you’ll hear the bang.

I saw Jamie Brown open his mouth to say something, but my brother spoke first. “But don’t you see, Mr. Brown? That goes both ways. No matter what you’ve done in the past, it doesn’t change what you can do today. Right here, right now.” He grinned, and I saw the glint of tears in those eyes. “That’s the worst thing about living, and the best. Just because your sister did what she did doesn’t mean you have to follow her. You can put the gun down. You can still spend the rest of your life doing what good you can. No one can take that choice away from you.”

The man chuckled. “You really believe that, copper?”

Ryan uncurled his fingers, drawing the eye towards the hands he’d kept raised all this time. “I’d put my life on the line for it, Mr. Brown. I am.”

The gun trembled in his hand. I couldn’t see his expression, couldn’t guess at what choice he was going to make.

Then Maryssa Vior spoke, her voice still flooded with tears. “Jamie, I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry. I deserve this, I know I do. I left you behind. I… I…”

There was a clatter as the gun fell to the ground. It sounded like it was empty. Had it always been empty? Brother and sister’s legs wobbled, and they both sank to the ground, wrapping their arms around each other and hugging as if they would never let each other go.

I caught just a glimpse of the man’s face, but I doubt he noticed me. He was young, much younger than what I’d thought from hearing his voice. Younger than me.

I shuddered, flipping the safety catch on my pistol and kneeling down on the grass. Couldn’t trust my legs to support me anymore. I wrapped my arms around myself and rested my head against the wall, listening. I could already hear the sirens, heard policemen rush into the room. The yelling had just begun.

I’m not sure how long I just sat and listened. Everything turned into a haze of light and movement for a while. It felt like I’d walked a mile with the world on my shoulders, and I couldn’t find anywhere to keep it, now.

At last, I heard someone sink to the ground beside me. “Hey.” Ryan said. “You okay?”

“No.” I told him. I pulled up my knees to my chest and buried my face in the rough denim. “It’s just… I said some really shitty stuff about you and how you had a gun phobia and all. I wasn’t thinking about… you know. I’m so sorry.”

“It happens.” He said. I looked up and saw him staring at the wispy blue of the afternoon sky.

“Only someone like me would make problems from shooting stuff in all the wrong places, and think the solution would be shooting more shit.” I muttered.

“You wanted to use your talent to help people.’ My brother said. “Nothing wrong with that. And honestly, a lot of people would say your solution to what was happening is a lot more prudent than mine. I took a risk back there.” He shrugged. “We were lucky enough that it paid off that time.”

I gripped my knees tighter. “I know. I just… I think I just wanted to kill someone evil. Someone everyone would applaud me for. And if I did that enough times, I could go up to Keigo and Daisy and show them that I wasn’t a dumb teenager after all. That they were wrong about me all along.” I laughed softly. “That’s never gonna happen, is it?”

“I doubt it.” Ryan admitted. We heard the voice of Florian Vior, demanding to know what was happening here.

“He’s in for a surprise, huh.” I said. “And that family’s going to be put through the wringer for the next few years, aren’t they?”

“They will. But they have a chance now. And, hopefully, we can make sure the rest of the members of the Eye get that too.” He sighed, and shook his head. “But that’s a tomorrow problem.” He sprung to his feet, and held out his hand. “Anyway, I had a talk with Detective Reinhardt, and he said it’s all right if we come down to give a statement tomorrow. You want to get something to eat?”

I yawned. “For once, I’m gonna have to pass. I’m just dead tired at the moment. I’d rather we just head home.” I took his hand, and he helped me up to my feet.

I remember that moment for a lot of reasons, but I think the main one is this. It was the first time I’d ever called that little apartment home.

There are worse places to rest your head, I suppose.