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Laying Eldon down on my couch, I pushed his too-long hair off his forehead, noting how greasy it felt, as if his hair hadn’t been washed in days or maybe weeks. “What in the hell happened to you?” I asked, even though Eldon was still unconscious and unable to answer. Kneeling on the floor, I placed my hand on Eldon’s chest, watching it slowly rise and fall.

Silent minutes slipped by, and I’d nearly forgotten that Lazarus was still with me until he asked, “Would you like me to leave?”

I considered the question for less than a second before answering, “No. Please stay.”

“For as long as you wish,” Lazarus answered.

There was a tug in my chest, pulling me toward Lazarus. For as long as you wish. Lazarus had agreed to stay. I doubt he knew the weight those few words carried with me. Some would consider their impact on me odd, considering I’d been the abandoner, not the abandonee. I was the one who’d left my home—left Eldon. At the time, I’d felt like there had been little to no other choice. Even with everything that had happened since that time, I still didn’t regret my actions, only the family I’d left behind and the animosity in their eyes. Eldon’s especially.

I continued staring at Eldon, taking in every crime against his body. His chest rose and fell, but his skin held an odd, waxen sheen that wasn’t natural. More than visual, it was his scent that was truly wrong.

“He smells like death,” Lazarus said, as if reading my mind. Maybe it was simply that Eldon’s scent was that overwhelmingly worrisome. “Forgive me. That was harsh.”

“But true.” I grabbed a quilt and laid it over my brother. His diminished form was little more than a few small mounds lying beneath.

“The scent of blood is minimal,” Lazarus continued. “I do not believe his body sustained much damage during its descent.” That was a kind way of phrasing Eldon’s crash landing. “I believe most of his injuries are…older.” Lazarus sounded less sure at the end.

“He’s been tortured,” I stated, though I was uncertain if that was the correct phrase. “At the very least, he’s been starved half to death.” I swallowed hard. “Did you see his talons? His beak?”

“I did.” The heavy, reassuring weight of Lazarus’s hand settled between my shoulder blades as his thumb traced patterns into my skin. “I cannot imagine what would drive anyone to such actions.”

Neither could I.

There was another pause, another silence before Lazarus said, “If you don’t want to answer, I understand, but if I might ask, how long has it been since you’ve spoken with your brother?”

I thought about not answering. That would have been the easy route—to simply tell Lazarus it wasn’t his business and to butt out. Those words were on the tip of my tongue and yet they felt rotten sitting there.

My gaze traveled to Vidia’s eggs. Warmly nestled within their burning coals, the eggs bore silent witness to my eminent emotional breakdown. I’d been feeling on the edge of a knife for months, maybe years now. Tenzen Huxley’s betrayal and violent actions should have been the tipping point, but I’d had others who depended on me. I pushed my volatile emotions down, telling myself I’d deal with them later, when things were calmer and more settled.

But calmer and more settled never came. There was always another crisis to battle, another piece of our past that reared its ugly head and demanded attention. And now here I was, a piece of my own private past, a piece that had nothing to do with the Magical Usage Council or Tenzen Huxley’s vicious betrayal, lying on my couch. Eldon was my own personal past coming back to haunt me.

Eyes slipping closed, I allowed myself a brief moment of grief. It was all the time I could spare because, once more, there was no time. I couldn’t fall apart. The past two centuries faded away as if they’d never been and, in that moment, Eldon was my younger brother and it was my job to take care of him. And I would care for him, just as I was always meant to.

I’d been silent so long I’m sure Lazarus thought I wouldn’t answer. Whether he was surprised when I spoke or not, Lazarus didn’t let on. “Too long,” I finally answered. “We…we didn’t part on good terms.” That was being kind. “Eldon didn’t agree with my reasons for leaving. He…he sided with my father. With the rest of my flight.” It had been a big ask. I could admit that now. To ask a teenage gryphon to go against the rest of his flight for the sake of his brother. I’d had no right to ask that of Eldon, and yet I had. I’d asked and been heartbroken when he’d glared at me with hatred in his eyes before turning his back and walking away.

Lazarus became quiet once more before softly asking the million-dollar question, the question I knew was coming, the question I dreaded thinking about and hated answering. “What drove you to leave?”

I blinked, fighting back the moisture in my eyes. It was the way Lazarus phrased the question. He didn’t ask me why I’d left. He asked what drove me to that decision. Some might call it semantics. To me, it was a deliberate choice of words. Lazarus was declaring loud and clear that he’d already taken a side. Without truly knowing the details, Lazarus’s word choice spoke volumes.

What side had he chosen? Mine. Lazarus did what no one else in my flight or family had been able or willing to do, and that was everything.

Before I could answer, Eldon’s cracked voice whispered, “J-Jaakobah.”

My gaze immediately flew to my brother as my hands uselessly hovered, uncertain where to touch him. “Eldon?” Going up on my knees, I leaned over Eldon’s body. I didn’t want to scare him, but I needed to be closer. “You’re safe,” I said. “I don’t know what happened, but you’re⁠—”

“Jaakobah,” Eldon said again, his eyes wide enough to show the white surrounding his iris. Hand darting out from under the blanket, Eldon gripped my wrist with a surprising amount of strength. If the panic filling his eyes was anything to go by, that strength was fueled by fear. “H-he’s coming,” Eldon rasped. “He—” Eldon’s words were cut off by a coughing fit that seemed to zap whatever energy he’d mustered. Eldon fell back into the couch, unconscious again as his fingers slipped from my wrist, his hand hanging off to the side.

I stayed where I was, every muscle taut. I could hear the blood rushing through my body and pounding in my brain. Fear spiked hard and fast. That fear was swiftly followed by nearly uncontrollable rage.

“Keir?” Lazarus’s tone was soft and full of caution. When I didn’t answer, Lazarus repeated my name. “Keir, who is Jaako⁠—”

I hissed, pulling away and swatting Lazarus’s comforting hand from my space. Standing, I gripped my fingers, tightening them into fists. My gryphon paced within me, demanding to be let free, to fly across the Atlantic Ocean, all the way to Europe where I could slaughter the gryphon attached to that hated name.

Tension filled me, restless below my skin, itching for release. I paced, my quarters too small to make much headway. My body vibrated with the need for violence. I couldn’t think, couldn’t stop pacing long enough to calm my raging thoughts and need for blood.

Coming to the end of the room again, I turned, only to run into Lazarus. His form was larger than mine and even in his still recovering state, Lazarus was strong. At some point, his horns had emerged, twisting and angling away from his sharpened features. Fire danced in his eyes, replacing their sapphire blue with burning orange and red. Clawed fingers carefully gripping my biceps, Lazarus ignored my bared teeth and low growl. Instead, he tilted his head down and asked, “Who must we murder?”

The question was so absurd, so unexpected, that I blinked, my ire not draining away but dampening enough for rational thought to bleed through.