Page 50 of Never Quite Gone

“Go!” For a moment, power seemed to crackle around him - impossible power that made reality feel thin. “Keep him safe. I'll find you later.”

I wanted to argue, to protect my younger brother, but something in his eyes stopped me. This wasn't the William I'd grown up with. This was someone older, more dangerous. Someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

By the time I got Elia safely away through the hidden exit, five bodies cooled on rain-washed cobblestones. I never saw William fight them, but something about the precise blade work felt practiced, ancient. Like he'd been protecting us forever.

He found us later at our emergency chapel. His movements were steady as he produced Elia's most important works, saved somehow despite the chaos. No blood stained his fine clothes, no evidence remained of what he'd done to protect us.

“Your studio...” Elia began, his hands shaking as he cleaned paint from his fingers.

“Is being cleaned as we speak.” William's smile held secrets I couldn't read. “No evidence will lead back to any of us.” He set down a leather satchel carefully. “Your most important works are here. The rest...” A shrug that carried too much understanding. “Art is temporary. Life matters more.”

“Thank you,” I said quietly, squeezing his shoulder. “Brother.”

Something flickered in his eyes - pain or knowledge or both. Like the word meant more than I could understand, carried weightbeyond this one life. But his smile remained gentle as he watched us, protective as always though I couldn't grasp why it felt so ancient.

“You should rest,” William said, his voice carrying that strange double quality I'd noticed more often lately - both my younger brother and something far older. “The Medici won't try again tonight.”

“How can you be so sure?” Elia asked, his hands finally steady as he examined his saved works.

William's laugh held edges of something I almost recognized. “Because they learn quickly when their lessons are written in blood.” His eyes met mine across the chapel's candlelight. “Some warnings only need to be given once.”

I wanted to question him - about the bodies in the street, about how he'd known exactly when to be there, about why watching him move in battle had felt like remembering something I'd seen a thousand times before. But the words stuck in my throat as another wave of almost-recognition hit me.

The way he stood between us and the door, guardian position as natural as breathing. How his hands moved over Elia's paintings with reverence that felt older than art. The precise way he'd arranged our escape route, like he'd spent lifetimes learning how to protect us.

“There's something you're not telling me,” I said finally, the words falling into candlelit silence. “Something about why you're really here.”

Pain flashed across his face again - ancient and raw and gone so quickly I might have imagined it. “I'm here because you're my brother,” he said softly. “Because family protects its own.”

But the word 'family' carried weight I couldn't quite grasp. Like he meant something larger than blood ties, something that encompassed Elia too though we'd only known him months in this life.

My head ached suddenly with pressure that felt like trying to remember dreams. Images flickered at the edges of my vision - William in different clothes, different times, always watching.Always protecting. Always carrying that same ancient pain behind his careful smile.

“Alessandro?” Elia's voice pulled me back. His hand found mine with familiar ease, though we hadn't known each other long enough for such intimacy to feel natural. “You look pale.”

William's expression shifted as he watched us, something desperate and loving and terrible crossing his features before his careful mask slipped back into place. For just a moment, I thought I saw tears in his eyes, though when he blinked they were gone.

“Dawn soon,” he said, voice steady despite what I'd glimpsed. “I've arranged rooms at the monastery. Brother Thomas owes me a favor.” His smile turned wry. “Several favors, actually.”

“You always know exactly what to do,” I mused, studying him in the fading candlelight. “Always turn up exactly when needed. Almost like...”

“Like what?” He kept his tone light, but something hungry flickered in his expression.

“Like you've done this before,” I finished quietly. “Many times.”

William went very still, and for a heartbeat I thought he might actually tell me something - explain why everything about him felt like echoes of older truths. But then his smile returned, carefully measured once more.

“Get some rest,” he repeated gently. “Both of you. I'll keep watch.”

As Elia and I followed Brother Thomas through torch-lit corridors, I glanced back one last time. William stood in the chapel doorway, candlelight painting him in shades of gold and shadow. Something about his posture made my chest ache - the lonely vigilance, the weight of watching, the love that felt too big for just this one life.

“Your brother,” Elia said softly as we walked, “he's... different. Like he knows things he shouldn't. Sees things we can't.”

“Yes,” I agreed, though the word felt inadequate. “He's always been that way. At least...” I paused, frowning. “I think he has. Sometimes it's hard to remember, like trying to hold onto water.”

Elia's hand found mine again in the darkness. “Does he ever remind you of someone? Someone you can't quite remember?”

But before I could answer, the pressure in my head returned - images of other times, other places, William's face watching through centuries with that same desperate love. I shook it off, clinging to what felt real. This life. This moment.

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