Page 85 of Torn By Fate

But I remembered her. Her face and the sound of her genuine laughter. I remembered the way she made my favorite omelet. I remembered the vanilla birthday cakes she’d make for me, the same one my father had tried to replicate every year since she was gone.

He had never let us feel her absence. He had made sure of that.

I picked up my fork and was about to take the first bite of cake, the corner piece, always the corner piece, because the frosting was thickest there and it was my favorite part, when the knock came.

My father’s brows furrowed at the sound before he stood up and went to answer the door. But when he opened the door…

His whole body went completely still.

For a fraction of a second, his face did something I’d never seen it do before—a harsh flicker in his expression, quick and cold, and then slowly his face went pale beneath his tan. The color drained so completely that the small scar near his jaw stood out white against the skin.

I set down my fork.

Caleb didn’t look up from his game. The electronic chirping of Mario jumping over something filled the kitchen, cheerful and oblivious.

My father swallowed hard, his throat bobbing roughly, and he positioned himself so that his body blocked the entire entryway to the living room. Behind him, I could see nothing.

“Why don’t you take your brother inside the bedroom?” he said, speaking to me without turning. His voice was steady, all too steady. “I need to speak with these gentlemen privately.”

I stood. My legs felt strange under me, disconnected. A part of me didn’t want to leave, but I knew that I had to listen to my father. “Come on, Caleb,” I said.

He groaned. “But I’m at the castle level—”

“Now.” The urgency in my voice must have reached him, because he looked up then, his small face scrunched in annoyance.

Caleb was never a stubborn kid, so he stood and shuffled past me, his Nintendo clutched against his chest. I followed him down the short hallway to the bedroom we shared, closing the door behind us.

The bedroom was small. Two single beds separated by a nightstand, a window that overlooked the alley, a dresser with a mirror that had a crack in the corner, and my desk in the corner of the room. It was perfect for us. Cozy.

Caleb dropped onto his bed and immediately resumed his game, the slight joyous music filling the room as though nothing at all was wrong.

It wasn’t…

Everything was fine.

But why did my father’s face pale like that?

I had never seen that expression on his face before… such… fear.

I paced. Three steps from the door to the window, three steps back.

My heart felt strange in my chest, hammering fast and heavy, like the wings of a caged hummingbird trying to escape.

Something was wrong.

I didn’t know what, but I felt it. My body knew. My body had always known things before my mind caught up.

I stopped pacing and looked at Caleb, who was mashing buttons with complete absorption, and then I went to the door.

I turned the handle slowly.

The door opened without a sound. My father had oiled the hinges himself, one of his countless small acts of maintenance that kept our world running smoothly. I pulled it back just enough. A sliver of light until a wedge of the living room was visible through the gap.

Three men stood in our living room.

The two of them were large in their frames, dressed in dark jackets that strained across their chests. They held themselves with a particular stillness, like they were stone statues of men who were waiting for instruction.

But it was the one in the center who held my attention.