Page 37 of The Syndicater (Dark Verse 6)

Before she could think more about it, a screech of tires came from outside, followed by the rapid footsteps of someone running. A second later, a silhouette came barrelling at the doorway, stopping at the last second. Dante moved to the side, giving whoever it was at the door a silent nod.

The silhouette took a deep breath in, before walking into the space, his eyes searching it.

She saw him before he saw her. Short dark blonde hair, light eyes that she knew were the most vibrant blue, a tall muscular frame that held itself ready to move at a moment's notice.

Tristan Caine.

Her big brother.

His eyes finally came to the side where she sat, and hestilled.

She saw his chest move rapidly and her own matched it, her heart galloping like a wild horse freed from the cage of her ribs, her arms shaking with the tight grip she had on the cushioned seat nect to her, their eyes locked.

His eyes traveled all over her, detailing every little thing about her that he could see, and hers did the same, taking in every little thing—from the shirt that was wrinkled to the scruff on his jaw that looked like he hadn't touched it for days to the shadows under his eyes that looked like he hadn't slept for days either. She took all of it in as did he, their eyes moving over each other, coming back and locking, and moving again, and coming back again.

Then, after seconds, minutes, hours of just taking in the other, he took a deep breath in, and took a step forward.

Her knuckles began to hurt with her grip.

He took another slow, measured step, watching her closely, as if she were a spooked animal that he didn't want to scare away.

She stayed frozen, unable to form words, unable to process feelings, unable to do anything but just sit and watch.

Another step, and her nose began to tingle.

One last step and he was before her, so close she could touch him. She wanted to touch him. But her arms didn't move, locked by her side, bound by chains she couldn't see but feel tying them up.

He looked down at her as she looked up, their stare never breaking, the weight of the emotions in his eyes heavy but not something she could read. All she felt was its intensity and it made her own come to the fore, burning her eyes and condensing the vapors of her feelings into the tears that flooded them.

And then, without a word, seeing the moisture in her gaze, he went down on his knees before her. Suddenly, she was looking down at him while he was looking up at her.

They just looked, breathed in the presence of the other for the first time in decades, memories hanging between them, the ones she didn't know and he couldn't forget. He brought his hands up, roughened palms facing upwards, leaving it between them, just watching, waiting, his own eyes red and misted as hers.

She could see his hands shaking in her periphery.

Somehow, seeing that sent the epiphany crashing into her—this was herbrother.

Her big brother.

The man who had looked for her since she had been missing.

The man who didn't give up on finding her for over twenty years.

The only blood family she had left, the roots to the tree she had never been able to see.

Lyla didn't even look at his hands, nothing in her letting her remove her eyes from his, but somehow, seeing his hands there broke the chains on hers.

She brought her trembling hands up, and slowly, placed them in his.

A breath shuddered out of him, his eyes closing for a second, tears that had been hanging in them falling down his cheeks and over his jaw.

Lyla felt her own fall, hiccups wracking her body as she tried hard not to make a sound, not to break this moment, her breaths short and tight.

He looked at her again, something sosoft,sobeautifulin his eyes it made a sob crawl out of her throat.

It was as if her sound triggered him. Before she could blink, he pulled her down on the rug and into his arms, drawing her smaller body into the large warmth of his, his big arms curling around her protectively, and the feeling of them broke her.

She had almost died believing she would never have this. She had lived her whole life believing she didn't deserve this. Every time someone had broken her as a child, as a teen, as a young adult, before Dainn had found her, she had craved the arms of a brother that would protect her, dying on the inside when they didn't come. The way he held her, crushing her to himself, broke her all over again, reminding her of every single time she had wished for this, begged for this, prayed for this, and never got.

Sobs wracked her body, her wails loud in the space, echoing, but she didn't care, crying her heart, her body, her soul out, and she wasn't alone. He was crying with her, not as loud but just as heavy, his body shaking with hers, his arms locked around her like he would never let her leave.

She was mildly aware of people coming to the door, but she didn't even look, and neither did he. They didn't care, a broken brother and a shattered sister.

The world could have ended, and they would have stayed locked there, both of them holding each other, crumbled on the ground, reuniting and restoring and repairing over twenty years of open wounds that had never stopped bleeding.

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