Page 23 of The Syndicater (Dark Verse 6)

Chapter 9

Morana, Shadow Port

Xander was up tosomething.

Morana didn't know why exactly, but she was sitting on one of the kitchen island stools with her laptop on the countertop, keeping an eye on her programs running the trace, watching the little timer in the corner ticking down with each second. She was getting closer to the twenty-four-hour mark, and her anxiety was peaking with each declining number, both because it was her responsibility and her forte to crack this thing open and because Tristan was going to come back any second, and she couldn't hide it from him.

Talking to Dante a few hours ago had given her the perspective she'd needed. Tristan was an adult, and though every instinct inside her wanted to protect him from any disappointment, and though it came from a place of love, she had to quell it down and let him make his own informed decisions. She could only stand and support him regardless of how things panned out.

Even though she was very sure Dante had been with Tempest—there was a certain softness in his voice whenever he was around her goddaughter—he had given her solid advice. Morana couldn't believe some days that she had a life now where she not only had family and friends but a generation of kids she was now responsible for as well. Speaking of, she looked at Xander making a cucumber, tomato and cheese sandwich, one of his favorites for some reason, and narrowed her eyes.

He'd been making that sandwich for fifteen minutes. It usually only took him five.

He was hovering for some reason.

Morana rested her arms on the countertop, feeling the cool stone on her skin, and watched the boy. "What's going on with you?"

Xander stopped in the process of slicing bread, the knife midway between the loaf, his head bent in concentration. "What's going on with you?"

Morana blinked, surprised at the question. "What do you mean?"

The boy pulled the knife out from the loaf, wiped it once, twice, and then started slicing again. Surprisingly, Tristan hadn't been the one to teach him how to do that. The sandwich had been one of the first things he'd shared was his favorite, and he didn't let anyone else make it for him. The cucumber and tomato had to be cut in a certain way, and the bread had to be sliced precisely in a certain thickness, and no one got it right but him. Tristan had made him the sandwich once and Xander had politely said, "You are a great cook but a bad sandwich maker."

It had been one of the funniest things to see the look on Tristan's face.

But it was just one of those veryXanderthings. That was exactly why Morana knew how long it took him to make.

Xander finished slicing his breadjust rightand Morana didn't interrupt him, knowing he would start all over again if disturbed. Once he was done, he neatly put away all the ingredients and plated two sandwiches, bringing one to her.

Surprised, Morana looked down at the offering.

"You haven't eaten anything all day."

She shouldn't have been surprised he had noticed. The boy was more observant than people gave him credit for. Just because he was different, people didn't care to notice him. Morana had seen that happen in the school he was in, with his peers and even some teachers, and it made her blood boil. She had almost decided to pull him out and homeschool him, get him the best teachers who could appreciate and encourage his keen mind and hunger for learning new things, but his psychologist had suggested otherwise for the time being. Dr. Kol, one of Amara's trusted colleagues, had been fabulous with Xander. He believed that Xander would do better if, at least for a few years, he was a part of social settings and learned different social environments, good and bad. That would help him adapt and operate better as an adult in the future. That didn't mean she couldn't leak certainsecretsof people who were mean to him. He'd also suggested getting him a dog, which they would soon do since Xander had shown a preference for canines.

"Thanks." Morana felt her stomach rumbling at the sight of the food. She picked it up with her right hand, her left feeling numb after the grueling typing she'd been doing throughout the day, and took a huge bite of it. The fresh flavors burst on her tongue, making her groan. "This is amazing," she mumbled through a full mouth, chewing slowly.

"You should eat on time. You have medicines to take," Of course, Tristan would train his miniature medical disciplinary to monitor her in his absence.

Morana rolled her eyes. "Yes, sir. I'll keep that in mind."

"You should also get your left shoulder checked. You haven't moved it in three hours." Xander dropped his observation, his tone without inflection, his eyes on the counter as he picked up the sandwich with both his hands and took a neat bite, chewing slowly. His mouth moved in counts of three, paused, started again, paused, started again, and then he swallowed. Morana knew the patterns, having seen them daily. Patterns made him feel good, and they were used to him now.

Fuck, even she hadn't given him as much credit. He had noticed. Of course, he had. Ever since she got shot, he had been keeping an eye on her like a hawk. The first time he had initiated a hug had been when she'd come out from the hospital, and he'd put his arms around her waist for exactly thirty-three seconds—he had counted—and told her never to get hurt again. It would be just her luck to be stuck with two quiet men—one grown-up and one miniature—who had difficulty expressing emotions, though for entirely different reasons. Tristan's issue was more because of nurture; the traumas he had sustained that had made him build a wall around himself so impenetrable he didn't know how to break it himself. Xander's was nature, as Dr. Kol had told them. He was born different, and there was absolutely nothing trauma-related about it, thank goodness. It would've broken her heart to even think of him going through anything traumatic. That was why maternal instincts inside her didn't understand how Tristan's mother could have just left him to be tortured by monsters all his life. Morana would have killed them or died trying if any of them even looked at the boy she thought of as her son now.

"Are you okay?" Xander's question broke through her musings.

She took another bite of the sandwich. "Yes, why?"

"You're not behaving normally."

She wondered what her normal behavior was to him. "I just have a project I'm working on," she told him the easiest truth. "It's time-dependent, so I'm a little distracted."

"What's the project?" He took another precise bite and chewed in his pattern of threes.

From any other child, the question would have been odd. Not from Xander. He was naturally interested in the digital space, spending time with her as she taught him some stuff. Surprisingly, he already knew a little. When Morana had asked where he'd learned, he'd just shrugged, remaining quiet about his past.

That was the only thing Morana was yet to understand about him to fill all the spaces. His missing past and his resistance to talking about it intensified the itch in her brain.

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