Page 126 of Prodigal Son

He scowled at the witch faking sleep in her cell. She sometimes cried, but at least she was comfortable. His father was aging and rotting from the inside out with no way to communicate and no relief in sight.

A book fell to the floor with a soft thud, drawing Cain’s attention. “What’s that?” The vibrant red cover struck him as vaguely familiar.

Dane bent to pick it up. “It’s another one of my mom’s journals.”

“There were more than one?”

“I found seven books like this. They all fit inside a box, but there’s room for eight. One’s missing.”

“Have you checked the storage?”

“It’s not here. I’ve looked everywhere. I don’t know if I want to even find it. Every time I read one of her journals, my life turns into more of a lie.”

“Life is what we make of it, Dane. Who cares how your mom perceived it?”

“I do. According to this, she wasn’t even our real mother. I think it was that Daphne woman she keeps mentioning. I have no idea where she is or why she gave us up. I just know my mom and dad adopted us shortly after Cybil was born.”

“You could have a family out there.”

Dane’s mouth pressed into a flat line. “They didn’t want us. I’m not going to romanticize it into something it’s not.”

Cain’s head cocked to the side, admiring the boy’s fixed attitude, but wondering if his stubbornness might cost him a chance at a normal life. Sometimes he wondered if Dane would be better off starting over with a pocket full of money and no memory of this place.

The witch sniffled softly and Cain followed Dane’s stare to where the girl lay on a straw pallet on the floor of her cell, her back facing them.

The tension in Dane’s face loosened. “Do you hear that?”

The plebe was crying again. “Ignore her.”

Dane frowned and narrowed his stare, then sat back with a huff.

“Can’t read her?”

He shook his head. “She has me blocked.”

Cain lifted a brow. So the little plebe wasn’t completely useless. She obviously had some skill. Cain pushed into her mind, getting a swirl of overwhelming images from what he assumed was her old home and seeing memories of a woman with dark curly hair smiling. “She misses her family.”

Empathy flashed in Dane’s eyes.

“Hey,” Cain nudged him. “She’s the reason Gracie cried that day.”

The mention of his sister had Dane’s expression hardening. Any sympathy for the witch disappeared.

Cybil snarled and shook the bars, stealing back their attention. Cain rose and pulled out a knife, slicing into the pear. “Easy now.” He cut her a sliver and she snatched it from his hand, the moment he held it within her reach.

He looked back at Dane, but his nose was buried back in the journal. Cain carefully cut up the pear and fed it to Cybil. When nothing but the core remained, he stuffed it in his pocket with the knife.

The door at the end of the corridor opened, and Larissa entered carrying a tray of food for the witch.

“I have chores to handle.” Cain paused, noticing Dane’s scowl as he scanned the red journal. “Something amiss?”

“Good morning.” Larissa greeted them with a smile then read the room. “What’s wrong, Dane?” She lowered the tray to the bench.

Dane scoffed and shook his head. “You know, I honestly didn’t think I had any interest in finding these people, but they still somehow managed to disappoint me all the same.” He snapped the book shut.

“What do you mean?”

“What people?” Larissa asked.

---