Page 28 of Silent Oaths
Sheblinks, trying to process. “She’salive?”
Iclick my tongue. “Oh,Isabel, you’ve missed so much while you were gone.”
Herexpression snaps from shock to fury in an instant. “Fuckyou.Whydid you kidnap me in the first place?”
“Itdoesn't matter now.”
Herfrustration builds. “Itdoesmatter.”
“No.”Istand to my full height. “Itdoesn’t.”
Sheglares at me, but she’s not just mad—she’s desperate.Shewants the truth, andI’menjoying making her wait.
Iignore her request and continue pacing the room.
“NowthatI’mhead ofVanguard,Ineed to ensure the council is on my side.”Iglance at her over my shoulder. “Unfortunately, they still seeLionelas this great, honorable leader.Avisionary.”Mylips curl with disgust. “Butyou andIboth know the truth, don’t we?”Iexhale sharply, turning to face her fully. “Iwant the world to see him for what he really was.Afraud.Amonster.Aman who built an empire on blood and shadows.”Istep closer, tilting my head. “Andyou,reporter, are going to help me do it.”
Isabelscoffs, rolling her eyes. “Oh, so now you’ve grown a conscience, huh?What, just because your father’s dead, you suddenly care about right and wrong?”
Ichuckle bitterly, invading her space, not giving her a moment to breathe. “No, you’ve got it all wrong,Siren.I’vealways been a bad man.Nothing—nothing—will ever erase the blood on my hands.”Iinch closer, my presence towering over her. “Don’tmistake me for someone seeking redemption.Ijust want whatIdeserve.”
“Andwhat is that?”
Idon’t hesitate. “Recognition.Myrightful place on the throne”
12
JULIAN
THE PAST:St. Dismas Home For Boys
Everythingfeels too big.
Iclutch the straps of my too-big backpack as tightly asIcan, my hands trembling.
Thecab ride from the city felt like it lasted forever, the world outside growing gloomier the closer we got toSt.Dismas’HomeforBoys.
Now, standing at the tall, rusted gates,Ifeel swallowed whole by the sight of the towering gray building.It’slike something out of the scary storiesMamaused to tell me, with its pointed rooftops and windows that look like empty, staring eyes.
Mythroat burns asIfight back tears.Nollores,Julian.Don’tcry.
Thewoman who brought me here—a social worker whose nameI’vealready forgotten—nudges me forward gently. “Comeon, sweetheart.They’rewaiting for you.”
Thegates groan as they open, andIstep through, my sneakers scuffing against the cracked stone path.Aman in a black sweater, his face wrinkled and pale, greets us at the door.Heintroduces himself asFatherCalloway, the head of the orphanage.Hisvoice is soft, like he’s trying not to scare me, but it doesn’t help.Nothingabout this place feels safe.
Thesocial worker leans toward him, lowering her voice to a whisper.Ifixate my eyes on the floor, pretending not to notice, but her words still reach me.
“ThisisJulian.He’ssix, recently orphaned.Hismother was killed just over a week ago.Thehorror,Father.Hesaw everything.”
Igrip the straps of my backpack tighter, the plastic cutting into my palms.
“Hedoesn’t speak muchEnglish,” she continues. “Justenough to get by, but he’s very quiet.Withdrawn.Idon’t think he’s said more than a few words the entire timeI’vebeen with him.”
Mycheeks feel hot.Iunderstand every word she says.EventhoughEnglishstill feels like a puzzleIcan barely piece together,Iknow enough.
FatherCallowaynods. “Poorboy,” he murmurs.Then, he turns to me, his expression kind. “Welcome,Julian.You’resafe here.”
Inside, the hallways are dark.Ican hear laughter echoing from somewhere deeper in the building, probably other boys who live here.Icatch glimpses of a group huddled together in a corner, but they don’t notice me.
