Page 27 of Infernal Affairs

I always can.

After a brief tour of the living room—heavy with family photographs, participation ribbons, and an entire shelf devoted to bird figurines—we're corralled around the dinner table, where conversation resumes with all the forced lightness of a hostage tape.

It’s obvious what they want to know. The questions are the same ones every protective family asks—intentions, ambitions, long-term plans, threat assessments—only with considerably more concern for Daisy’s well-being than a standard parental grilling.

After performing the solemn ritual of carving the roast, Mr. Flowers passes me a generous slice.

“We’ve always trusted Daisy’s judgment,” he says. “But she tends to trust the world too much. You understand?”

I do.

Daisy’s optimism is both her greatest strength and her greatest vulnerability. I’d like to believe the world has never punished her for it, but I know better. She’s lived close enough to the wild edge to understand monsters aren’t always what they seem.

I nod.

“I won’t let anything happen to her. Ever.”

Violet cuts in, her voice brittle.

“But you’re a…demon. Demonic. How do we know you won’t…revert?”

The word tastes poisonous.

It’s the same word they use on the evening news after incidents.

Daisy’s fork clatters against her plate. I want desperately to spare her this conversation, but not at the cost of pretending.

“My nature is what it is,” I reply. “But my loyalty is to Daisy. I’d sooner harm myself”—I glance toward her—“than let her be hurt by me. Or by anyone else.”

It’s the first truth I dare speak at this table.

After dinner, things somehow become even more uncomfortable. The women clear the plates while Mr. Flowers corners me with beer and genealogy. Violet follows us into the sitting room, apparently unwilling to let me out of her sight. I stand near the fireplace, studying the rows of family photographs, and wait for the inevitable interrogation.

Violet begins.

“Why my sister?”

It isn’t an accusation.

Neither is it casual.

I set my drink down.

“She’s the first person I’ve met in a very long time who made me curious about something other than work.”

She snorts.

“She has a habit of bringing home strays.”

I smile because I know she means it.

“I’m not looking to be rescued. If anything, she’s the one who found me.”

Violet studies me for another long moment.

“Do you love her?”

It’s so blunt I almost laugh.