Page 152 of The Rules
The mockery in Julian's tone was evident, that familiar mix of pity and amusement that had always made Ben's skin crawl. But he needed him. And they both knew it.
Ben exhaled through his nose. Clipped. Controlled.
"Usual place. Tomorrow. Eleven."
"No please? No'Julian, my brilliant, unhinged little brother, how have you been?'God, Ben. You wound me."
Ben pinched the bridge of his nose, keeping his breathing measured. Julian had always been like this—turning every interaction into a performance, making Ben work for every scrap of cooperation.
A pause stretched between them, and Julian's voice dropped, sharper now.
"Just once, I'd love for you to call because you missed me. Not because you need a monster."
Ben didn’t respond. Couldn't. Because they both knew it was true. He only reached out when conventional methods failed—when he needed something that lived in the shadows Julian called home. And that wasn’t how it usually went. Julian was always the one who reached out first. Faster. Without shame.
"Just show up," Ben said flatly.
Julian laughed. The sound was quiet. Dangerous. Unpredictable. It slithered through the phone and settled in Ben's chest like ice.
"Oh, I'll be there," Julian replied, his voice low and giddy with anticipation. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."
Then—his tone shifted, becoming softer, almost affectionate, which only made his words twice as cruel:
"Next time you dial me, big brother… Try starting the conversation with my name. Feels more honest that way."
Click.
Ben set the phone down like it was radioactive.
Because itwas.
And he just invited the most volatile piece of his past into a war he might not be able to control.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
Ben sat still, one hand resting on the edge of the desk, the other curled into a loose fist in his lap.
Across from him, the city sprawled in silence—windows blinking like indifferent eyes. Down below, people moved, headlights drifted, lives unfolded. Unaware. Unaffected.
He leaned back in the chair. Let the silence stretch.
The call was made. The line was crossed.
No reaction showed on his face. Not yet.
Just one quiet breath. Then another.
Somewhere deep in his chest, something settled. Not regret.
Just inevitability.
Chapter 37
Benjamin
The air smelled like old bourbon and sharper things. A place with no name on the door—just shadowed booths, low jazz, and the kind of silence people paid extra for. The kind where no one asked questions they didn’t want answers to.
