Page 62 of Alamort

“Yeah?”

“Well, what do you think?” Bennett asks impatiently.

“It’s him.” He whispers. The discomfort in my gut is prominent as I recall the way Saint was when we were younger. A dirty, malnourished boy with bruises littering his body. His father thought his shoulder length hair was too “feminine” back then, so he shaved it. We learned from Saint that he believed he was being punished for something he’d done. All of us brushed it off, choosing to prioritize his happiness over delving into his personal life. Not even the school tried to save him. It’s disgusting how many kids are failed by the very system that is designed to protect us.

Bennett shakes his head side to side, disagreeing and in disbelief. “Nah, man. You’re trippin’. There’s no way.” He laughs, but there’s an underlying tension in the sound.

Saint’s complexion is ghostly pale, all traces of his usual tan have vanished within a matter of minutes.

“Ben. It’s the sameblackcard, same red writing that he used to have me deliver to his victims’ families. The pose, I remember it so vividly. He used to make me chain them up. But I’ve never seen him choose a man.” He swallows hard.

My brother scoffs at the ridiculousness of what he’s implying. “Impossible. We killed him. All four of us.” He looks at me. “Right?”

I don’t know how to answer. I thought we did, but something has me second guessing. Saint’s eyes bulge out of his head, never closing. His head shakes in a constant back-and-forth motion.

“I…thought we did,” I say.

“There was no body. We tied him to his bed and set it on fire. There wasn’t a body. We should’ve checked.” Saint says over and over again, squeezing his eyes shut. Ben and I stand silently, taking in the sight of him.

“Saint. I swear to God if you don’t shut the fuck up. He’s been dead for years. Me, Crew, Tyandyou, killed him.” His tone isharsh and defensive, but anyone who knows Bennett knows it’s because he’s scared.

Saint ignores my brother in favor of pacing. His restless steps echo throughout the room. The veins in his neck visibly pulsate as he repeatedly jerks his head from side to side, as though grappling with an internal struggle. What the hell is going on with everyone today?

“I need to tell you guys something,” he says, still pacing. We patiently wait. “Malice doesn’t want you guys to know.” I stand taller, crossing my arms over my puffed chest. Throughout our entire time together, we’ve maintained an open and honest relationship between the five of us. I never thought Malice would be the one to break that with how important Saint is to him. It was a red flag when we heard them briefly disagreeing before they stopped as soon as we entered the room.

“What?” The question comes out harsher than I intended. I’ll blame it on the bomb he just dropped.

“Priya, she’s been receiving the same letters.”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘receiving the same letters’?” I grit out. I’m trying to be patient because, according to him, he’s not supposed to be telling us anything.

“Fuck man, I can’t.” His eyes screw shut tightly, tugging on his hair before taking a deep breath. “She’s gotten a few of these letters. Malice and River have been working on it separately, of course. There’s footage of a man in all black coming to deliver them. Priya thinks it’s Malice fucking with her, so she isn’t that concerned. Tosses them into the nightstand next to her bed and doesn’t think about them again. Not that we’ve noticed.”

There’s a lot to unpack here. The secrets a breach of trust, and while I understand Saint isn’t solely to blame, I expected better from our connection. I was foolish enough to think it was anything more than that. Where do his loyalties lie? What about Saint’s? Why would Priya think it’s Malice? I scoff, allowing theindifference I wear for everyone else to wash over me. Emptiness fills my chest, strangling my usual rage into a box that I can deal with at a later time.

“What do you think, Saint?” I say calmly.

“I don’t know. I’ve been trying to tell you guys, but he’s kept me busy in our room looking for shit on Priya. I thought he was helping.” He stops pacing to stare at both of us. “This is my father. I can feel it. Something had to have gone wrong that night. It’s been eating at me every time I see you guys. Not to mention I don’t know what he’s hiding from me. There are bigger spaces in time I can’t remember. He doesn’t fill me in anymore. I’m lost, and it’s making me insane.”

“What do we know about the letters?” Ben asks quietly, refusing to look at Saint. Opting to stare at the dead, naked school dean instead.

“Whoever is delivering them isn’t my father. He wouldn’t chance being surprised a second time. He’s been inside her room and through her things. Mal thinks he wants her. He doesn’t know why.” His pacing slows and he plays with the hooped piercings on his lip.

“We could put cameras in her room.” Ben suggests. The first time we got lucky. Saint lived with him and we could plot his death with Elijah to cover it up for us. This time? I don’t know where to search for his piece of shit father.

“Why now?” I ask, “It could’ve been anytime in the past four years he could’ve reached out. But he chose now.”

“Priya?”

I nod my agreement to whichever one of them said it while I stare outside through the window overlooking the quiet street. The only thing that has changed is her. He’s going after her. What’s his endgame?

“Is she in on it?” I question.

Saint shakes his head. “No, she’s clueless. I told you she thinks it’s Mal.”

“Yeah, well, you also failed to fill us in on this recent development of your guys’.” Bennett sneers. Saint cringes under our stares of scrutiny. This changes things for us. All of us.

“We can bring her home?” Bennett proposes, looking at me. It seems I’m not the only one who took Mal’s secrecy to heart.

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