Page 114 of Descent

“I…” Is he messing with me?

“Seriously, though. No one would guess that you were lead in our boys’ choir growing up.”

“I was?”

“Yeah…” He hesitates, watching my eyes. “You didn’t say shit till we were almost ten, but Aunt Eva made you try out, got you voice lessons. Aless swore it was the only thing that opened you up.”

Huh.

“Where have you been, Fiero?” His tone drops to a gruff whisper.

Exhaustion, bone-deep and steeped with years of strain, settles around me. The levity drains out. My shoulders droop. Tears creep along my eyelids, betraying me.

Dammit, I miss her. I pray she’s alright.

“Hell, man,” I say simply. Then I start from the beginning. Unpacking my bottomless well of fucked-up choices and experiences. At least, what I can remember. Most importantly, I tell him about Circe.

I’ve put most of the pieces back in place enough to tell a cohesive story. Even if I do still have holes in my memories. Mostly it’s like seeing and knowing that things happened. Photos without the context of having lived it.

Ciro listens, rarely interrupting. Fucking weird.

“Vanya said you weren’t all there. When you fought back then.”

I nod.

“But believing that you were brainwashed doesn’t remove the responsibility for your actions. And it damn sure doesn’t mean that I trust you.”

“I get it. You’ve got to protect your own.”

“You are my own. You were.” Ciro grimaces, clenching his fists. He winces, like he wants to tell me something.

“Can you tell me one thing?”

“They’re alive.” His eyes meet mine and for one split second I feel like we used to, when we could practically read each other’s thoughts. The bond we shared for almost thirty years.

Our reunion is suddenly interrupted by the door slamming open.

Fury rolls in like a thunderstorm. Jet black hair and ice blue eyes swivel toward me, then back to Ciro.

“What the mother-fuck are you doing withhim, Shakal?” Death and destruction rumble in her gaze, promising annihilation.

“Trading snickerdoodle recipes, Bun-bun,” Ciro quips, his entire demeanor changing.

Vanya’s whole posture morphs to the genuine grin on his face. Her lips pout out in a little smirk. “Do not let him bake anything. He will poison it.”

“Hi, Vanya,” I mumble.

“So you are not dead. Pity.”

“Seems like everyone keeps trying, but I just won’t die.”

Her eyes narrow and I stop talking. Ciro leans over and slaps her straight up across one curvaceous cheek. Vanya gasps, taking her wrath off of me.

“Just need a few more minutes,moya vkusnaya miska beskonechnogo udovol’stviya ot lizaniya kiski.”

Vanya’s face flushes bright red.

“I missed some of that…did you say ‘delicious bowl of—’” I start.

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