Page 170 of Crave
It was never meant for him.
Theo stepped forward and snatched it from my hand, his expression tight with confusion. But as he read it, something shifted in him—something subtle and dangerous.
His brows pulled together. His mouth opened, then closed again.
And I knew.
He recognized the handwriting.
“Where did you get this?” he said, voice low, eyes never leaving the paper.
“The desk,” I rasped. “From the study.”
Theo shook his head slowly, something brewing behind his eyes. “That’s dad’s writing.”
I said nothing.
And that said it all.
“What does it mean?”
I closed my eyes, the washed out grey world fading. “Nothing.”
“Don’t nothing me, Silas.” He leaned closer until all I could see was him. “What the fuck does it mean?”
His confusion.
His pain.
“Las Almas Perdidas.”
There. It was.
The words I’d fought so hard to unhear. But here they were again, worming their way under my skin.
“I asked him once about it,” I said quietly, the memory scraping against my voice. “I was just a kid. Thirteen, maybe. I saw the name scribbled in one of the ledgers. Didn’t know what it meant, only that it felt wrong. Twisted.”
Theo didn’t speak, but the silence between us sharpened.
“He reacted like a man possessed,” I continued. “Grabbed me by the collar, slammed me into the wall. He was shouting—never say that name again. He looked at me like I’d cracked open something he’d spent his whole life trying to bury.”
Theo’s expression darkened. “You think this…” He waved his hand toward the bloodied warehouse. “All this is because of some fucking words?”
I shook my head. “Not just words, Theo. Not. Just. Words.”
“What the fuck does it mean?”
Theo’s silence stretched.
I…
Don’t…
Know.
And then he said, barely above a whisper, “First our parents… now this.”
I didn’t move.
