Page 133 of Dishonored

Wordlessly, Cain’s hand struck out, and landed on Caesar’s forearm. He squeezed tight, but said nothing. He didn’t need to say anything. The action, and the support, was clear enough. Caesar was grateful.

“It’s fine,” Caesar muttered.

“I don’t think it is, man.”

“I’ve handled it.”

“But have you handled it well?” Cain returned.

“Probably not.”

Cain sighed. “I know people might say shit or assume whatever based on what they think they know about you …”

Caesar chuckled under his breath. “They’ve been doing that for years, anyway.”

“Right—true. I got you, though.”

He glanced over at his friend.

Cain just shrugged.

“Yeah, I know. Say hi to your wife for me when you get home. She’s probably … concerned.”

“Gina always worries about you. Don’t know why.”

Caesar laughed. “Yeah, me either.”

Cain clapped Caesar hard on the shoulder as he stood. “Speaking of Gina, though. She would like her, you know. Aria, I mean.”

“You think?”

“Hell, Gina likes anybody that can fuck shit up.”

“Yeah, Aria is good at that.”

To say the least …

“We’ll get this figured out,” Cain said as he moved down the steps. “We always do.”

“I don’t think we’ll have to do too much, actually,” Caesar replied. “Everything is about to change, now.”

Cain simply gave him a look over his shoulder, silently questioning without actually asking out loud. Caesar grinned back, saying nothing.

It was what he did.

He was who he was.

“He’s known for years.”

Aria looked up over the tarts she was currently sprinkling with powdered sugar, and found Caesar standing in her kitchen entryway. He could have taken the time to appreciate her house, and the way it was decorated, but he had a lot of shit on his mind.

Too much, really.

“Who?” she asked, setting her utensils aside.

“My father.”

Aria placed her hands to the island, and considered his words for a moment. “Are you sure—”