Page 143 of The Oath We Give

I cannot lose her. I won't. Not when I just got her.

Easton Sinclair stands in the darkness, creeping forward with a stagger in his walk. The building flames behind us cast a flicking light over his sickly face. He is a series of shadows and hissing orange-red lights.

No longer the guy I remember from my youth or even the one that crashed my engagement party. The purple bags beneath his eyes and hollowed cheek bones tell a disturbing story of a man that is no longer there.

Both his physical and mental health decline shines in his eyes.

He is unhinged, gaunt and holding a fucking gun.

"I guess destroying my life would be fucking hilarious to you four, wouldn't it?" He scratches his head the barrel of the gun, mania laced in his own chuckle, "Is that the smell of my dad burning? Wait, sorry, stepdad. I'm still trying to get the wording down."

There are more of us then him, but that does nothing to calm my heart beating against my chest. Even with the gun tucked in the back of my jeans, one move and he could shoot any of us before I can get a shot off.

Numbers don't matter when someone has nothing to lose.

"Easton. Look at me."

My hand wants to reach for her, as Sage takes a daunting step closer, her palms up to show she isn't a threat, like she ever was to begin with.

"It's over for all of us now. You don't have to--"

"Shut up."

On a dime his emotion shifts from delusion to pure anger, swinging his arm in her direction so she's starring down the barrel of his gun.

There is a collective gasp as Rook grabs her wrist, yanking her backwards into his chest before swinging her behind him.

"You want a pound of flesh; you can take it from me." He bargains, still holding Sage's wrist behind him with a painful grip, "Leave her out of it."

It's clear that no matter what Easton came here to do, he won't leave until someone is bleeding. Regardless of what we say to him, there is a look in his eyes that tells me his too far gone to be pulled back from this ledge.

He is shattered and the person left standing in the pieces of Easton Sinclair? Is someone we don't know how to deal with.

"Leave her out of it?" He cackles, the sound ricochets off the trees. "What do you offer this fucking group, Van Doren? Humor? Cause it sure as fuck isn't intelligence."

"What do you want, man? You want money?" Alistair asks, trying to get his attention away from a singular person. That way if he fires, he'll miss if he doesn't have a solitary target, "We can get you money. We could get you help."

"Help? I don't fucking want your help!" Easton is a bomb, ticking with the seconds passing, and we are running out of time, "Why would I take your help? Because we're blood? Fuck you! Fuck all of you!"

He's shaking with pent up rage, tears glowing in the flames. Regardless of his current state, he's just as much a victim as us. A different shade of morally grey, just colored on the opposing side.

He's our villain, just as we were to Ponderosa Springs.

And while a part of me gets it. His wrath and resentment, he’s also pointing a weapon at the people I love.I don’t understand him enough to spare his life if he does something stupid like shoot one of us.

"He wasn't yours to kill.” He stammers, harshly wiping his nose with the back of his hand, fingers quivering around the weapon, “It wasn't your revenge to take. You have no idea what I went through, what he made me do, you fucking idiots. He was mine to end and you couldn't even let me have that!"

“You’re right.” I step forward, nodding my head as branches crunch beneath my feet. Coraline’s fingers are buried in my suit, trying to keep me close, but I keep walking.

Until she lets go and I'm standing in front of everyone. In the corner of my eye, I see Rook shaking his head, but not wanting to make any more sudden moves.

“We don’t know what happened to you and no one will if you don’t put that down. You want us to know your story? For people to understand what you did?" I ask him, my palms sweating, "Give yourself the chance to tell it, Sinclair. Don’t be him.”

There is a riveting silence that passes in the air, no one moves or breathes as Easton stares me down.

In this light, he looks more like a sad boy then a man on a war path. At the very least, he deserves a chance. To rewrite his story, change the ending.

Evil is not made it is chosen and you can choose not to accept it.

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