Page 64 of Descent

“I think so.”

I appreciate that she doesn’t question me more on that. Unfortunately, she was saving her breath for a heavier question.

“How did they die?”

My eyes come to her, those bright green orbs looking up at me, entrancing me, pulling the secrets out of the deep recesses of my mind against my will. Whatever she wants to know, I’ll tell her. Anything she wants, it’s hers. I’d cut out my own fucking heart and lay it at her feet, if that’s what she asked of me.

“They were eliminators like me,” I say, before rolling my lips together, stretching this out as long as I can. “They worked as a team. It’s not uncommon, most prefer it, actually. One day, they were given orders, to take down a manufacturing plant with all the workers inside, and they didn’t get out in time…boom. Gone.”

My siren’s eyes are widened with horror as she looks at me, as if she was waiting for me to say more. There isn’t more to say, though. We are all born, and we all die; we never know what job will be our last or if we’ll choke on a fucking bagel on a Tuesday morning. It’s fucked, but there is no changing it.

“Vincent,” she says, her voice rasping as she shakes her head. “I’m so sorry. You were what? Fifteen?”

“Fourteen,” I correct.

She shakes her head like her heart is broken. I’m surprised it upsets her so much. She lost her mother when she was three. At least I have memories of my parents; she hardly has anything of hers, and Henry Parris is about the furthest thing from a father. He doesn’t even count. Then again, I guess she had Stephanie.

“Who did you stay with after that? You didn’t live on your own, right?”

He shakes his head.

“I moved in with my bond brother.”

“You had a bond brother? I mean, it makes sense. I had wondered if there was a reason you didn’t have one, but…where is he?”

“Dead,” I say curtly.

Fuck. I haven’t spoke about him in over two years. I still think about him nearly every day. He was my brother in every sense of the word, in every way that counted. It’s fucked up, but his death haunts me more than my parents ever will. It’s also the reason I will never trust or forgive Asher Putnam.

Skyla opens her mouth, closing it before opening and closing it again. My face must be easily readable. That is a subject I don’t want to go into. Not right now, not ever.

“What was his name?” she asks softly.

My heart tugs at the timid tone beneath her words, and I force myself to soften, just a little, as I answer her this.

“Nathaniel Ingersoll.”

She nods, before tilting her head to the side.

“Was his father in the room that night? I don’t think I’ve heard the name before.”

I shake my head. “His dad had a heart attack when we were seventeen. His mom died giving birth to him. Nate was the onlytrue heir. With him gone, the Ingersol bloodline nearly went extinct. A mysterious cousin appeared practically from thin air and claimed the seat at the table. There was a lot of controversy over it. Many, including your father, questioning the validity of his heritage.”

Her lips roll together. “I’m sure Christopher didn’t love that.”

“He wasn’t the head of the Brethren back then; it was his dad, Luther Putnam.”

“Asher’s grandfather?”

I nod.

“God, how do you keep it all straight? All the families and legacies and stories.”

“It was all we learned from birth. Like a religion poured down our throat from infancy, injected into our veins through adolescence, and beat into our brains as adults. We live and breathe our history.”

She’s quiet for a moment, before she lifts her hand to cup my face like she did earlier today.

“I’m sorry.”

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