The unfortunate thing about a lot of the beaches in and around the area of Pensacola was they were mostly flat. That was a good thing for tourists, who just wanted to play out in the sun while being able to keep an eye on their kids and loved ones at the same time, but not so great for anyone who wanted to get away from everyone else. Sure, it wasn’t like the Florida panhandle was as widely-frequented as the shores of California. Crowding wasn’t an issue, just privacy.

Going alongside that issue was the fact that in many places, the surrounding cities pressed right up against the beach. The division between nature and technology was as thin as a piece of paper, if it could even really be said to exist at all.

Rounding out the trio of difficulties with this meeting Markus planned was the fact that the beaches were mostly off-limits at night. Guards roved over the sand, leaving deep tire tracks in their path, to make sure no one lingered where they weren’t supposed to. Destruction of property, and the lesser issue of possible bodily damage to the errant tourists, made this a necessity.

Of course, there were spots along the water that were still open, but those places were all as brightly illuminated as a football field. Not good, either.

So, after hours of brainstorming, Markus came up with his current plan. He would go to Opal Beach. Located on Santa Rosa Island, an extremely long and thin barrier island that stretched past Pensacola and many other cities and shores, Opal Beach was planted smack dab in the middle. The fastest way to get to it was over the highway, then directly across the island itself; however, that didn’t mean the journey was necessarily speedy. It was a long way to go, far outside of the boundaries of the two packs, and there really wasn’t much special about it. A visit to a website about Florida vacation spots would list Opal Beach as having parking spots, picnic facilities, and bathrooms, essentially making it out to be your average beach with no particularly outstanding features. If a place to pee was where your standards ended, then Opal Beach was perfect for you.

It was also closed at night, not that Markus was particularly worried. There were other, better stretches of shore the guards would focus on. What drunk tourist would think to go surfing intoxicated at fucking Opal Beach?

So, that was where he told Destiny to meet him in the note he dropped while being chased away. Everything had gone according to plan. Well, except for that little hiccup where they had to fight. That wasn’t supposed to happen. At least no one had died.

The note itself was short and sweet. The process of writing it, long and laborious. He kept wanting to spill everything he knew, except then there would be no point to actually meeting up. He had to censor himself, narrow it down to the facts, which was really a whole lot harder than he thought it should have been. Maybe that said something about him. He didn’t much care.

“Come to Opal Beach. Midnight. In two days. Follow your nose when you get there to find me. I need to talk to you about something.”

Hopefully that would be enough to lure Destiny in. Should be. That nosy alpha couldn’t mind his own business if someone put a gun to his head.

Crouched in the shadows behind the bathroom and shower building, which had been designed to look like a stereotypical grass hut—and which certainly wasn’t offensive to any native island-dwelling people in any manner—Markus kept his eyes and ears peeled for any sign of Destiny’s approach. His heart beat a little too fast in his chest. He blamed that on adrenaline, knowing it absolutely couldn’t be excitement or eagerness at the thought of seeing his ex again.

Lights played across the sand in the distance as a guard drove across the sugar-white shore. Markus tensed, then relaxed as the vehicle apparently turned around and went off in a different direction.

“Scared of getting caught?”

He didn’t flinch. That voice was too familiar to startle him, even after all this time.

Destiny North. A compass of a man who would point south and tell you it was east, insisting upon being correct. He was infuriating, arrogant, and maddeningly attractive. He stood as tall and broad as an oak tree, with shoulders that seemed to go on for miles. Despite his stature, he also had a sort of stateliness about him, a rigorous and often proper manner that could be as annoying as his belief that he was always right.

His hair was long and pale brown, luxurious and thick and glossy. Markus knew exactly the sort of pride and care Destiny put into his appearance, could have listed off his various hair products without a moment of hesitation. He had, after all, been in the bathroom often enough with the alpha to see what he used.

But Destiny’s best feature, the one thing about him that truly stuck out and could never be forgotten by anyone who saw him, were his eyes. They were the only part of him disrupting the steady image of reliability he tried so hard to convey. One was blue, and the other was brown. Both were extremely beautiful, polished jewels set into an inlay of a handsome face.

There was a word to describe the phenomenon of differently-colored eyes that afflicted Destiny. Markus could never remember it. He didn’t have time to clog up his brain space trying to remember unimportant things. The label didn’t matter to him. The beauty did.

“How’d you manage to sneak up on me?” Markus asked.

“Simple. I followed my nose. Like you told me to. And it’s not my fault you were too distracted by the pretty lights out there to notice that I was coming up behind you.” Destiny nodded off into the distance, where Markus had seen the lights from the guard’s vehicle shining across the sugar bowl surface of the sand. “Why did you want me to come here? Better be a damn good reason after all those things you said to me.”

“I only said all that stuff so you’d follow me. And it worked, didn’t it? So, no harm, no foul, right?”

Destiny shook his head. His features were impassive, which was another thing that never failed to get under Markus’ skin. Most wolves, especially alphas, were open books. Then there was Destiny, who went out of his way to make everything difficult.

“But you meant everything you said. Not like I’m surprised. Nothing I haven’t heard from you before, is it?”

Sometimes Markus had a hard time remembering what he’d said and what he hadn’t. When he got caught up in the middle of something, anything was likely to come bursting out of him, and unlike Destiny he wasn’t above twisting the truth to get the situation to go his way.

Stay calm. He’s trying to get to you. Don’t let him. Don’t let him in your head. Don’t let him see he can still do that.

Markus pulled himself up to his full height, and then he shoved all the bad thoughts away. He pulled his courage to the forefront and surged onward with everything he should have already said. “I didn’t arrange that whole thing just so we could come here and argue about who did what in the past, okay?”

Destiny actually looked surprised, which made Markus feel a happy tingle of warmth in the pit of his stomach. He used to love trying to prove himself to Destiny. It was so hard to do, but so worth it when he managed. There was nothing in the world better than having those gemstone eyes gleaming with pride, all meant for him.

Like the time he climbed the flagpole outside city hall while the mayor and a number of concerned citizens stood underneath him, shouting for him to get down. The cops came, and he jumped off the pole to the roof. He might have been arrested for disturbing the peace had Destiny not arrived to distract them. Climbing down from the roof, Markus ran around to rejoin Destiny, and they had ridden off for several blocks before coming to a stop.

Markus had been afraid of what Destiny would think of him, having to be rescued. He tried not to look the alpha in the eye.

“I liked that,” Destiny had said, out of nowhere. He reached out, grabbed Markus’ face in his hands, and kissed him. “You were so daring. Exciting.”

Remembering all this, he felt wretched. This meant he still wasn’t over Destiny.

“You caused all that? I don’t know whether to be pissed or impressed.”

“I didn’t plan on starting the fight,” Markus admitted. For some reason, he didn’t really want to take the blame. “I don’t think anyone in particular got it started. It just kind of happened. Tensions have been kind of high lately.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Higher than you realize,” he said. “I just wanted to make you come and chase us away, so I could drop the note. I knew you’d see it. You see everything. I convinced those guys to come with me and hang around the border by telling them that leaving our scent there would drive you crazy. I guess maybe they had a different idea in mind.”

Destiny frowned. Markus hated to see him frown, though he tried to convince himself that the feeling was just a sort of memory he was having a hard time getting rid of. It didn’t mean anything, not really.

“I think I understand, although you could have found an easier way to get in touch with me.”

“Sure, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as fun.”

“Maybe fun is the last thing you should worry about sometimes. Have you ever thought about that?”

Markus waved away the other man’s complaints. He could feel himself slipping even further into old habits, wanting to carry this banter on for as long as possible.

“And why do you say that tensions are higher than usual? Isn’t it enough that there’s all this chaos over the fact that two people are in love?”

It was now or never. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. but I felt like I kind of owed it to you to be the first to let you know. Since we used to be together and everything.” Markus let his hand stray down to his pocket, fiddling restlessly with the object he had hidden there before sneaking away to come to this meeting. “You have to promise that if anyone asks you, you won’t say you heard about it from me.”

“Would my promise mean anything to you?”

“Of course.” He was surprised to find he actually meant that when he said it and wasn’t sure whether he liked that. It was like turning over a stone and finding a big fat earthworm wiggling around, with a golden ring around its slimy, bulging middle. Yay or nay? “If there’s anything you’re good for, it’s keeping a promise.”

“It means a lot to me that you would think that.” Destiny’s voice gained a hushed tone, as if he was genuinely touched by this. “And I promise. I really do. You can tell me anything, you know that.”

“All right. Look, someone attacked a member of LF. It was Pockets. Do you remember Pockets?”

“Yes.”

So named because he had the deepest damn pockets in history. The wolf could steal literally anything he put his mind to. Some of his feats were unimaginable, and as far as Markus knew, Pockets had never been caught in the entire time since he’d turned to thievery.

“Like, whoever attacked him put him in the hospital. You know how hard that is to do. They snuck up on him, ganged up on him. They were shifters, but one of them was using a knife that he left at the scene.”

“I’m sorry about Pockets.” Destiny lowered his head. “Is he recovering well?”

“He’s still in the hospital. I didn’t see it happen. He was alone. He hasn’t talked much since.”

And no wonder. No one could blame him for his silence. It must be an awful, traumatizing thing to go through, being surrounded and assaulted so violently.

“I see. Well, I’m sorry that happened. But what I don’t see is how this connects to anything.”

“You don’t just gang up on someone like that unless it’s premeditated. This was a personal attack. We’d think that anyway, but we…Well. Here.”

Markus reached into his pocket and pulled out the thing he had hidden away, then offered it to Destiny. To get that he’d had to pull the sort of heist that would make Pockets proud. It fit the situation, like an homage to him. As it was, he’d nearly been caught by Brock.

Destiny took what had been handed to him, then looked down at it. His expression remained still and stoic for several seconds, then cracked down the middle like a piece of finery dropped on the floor when he registered what it was that he held in the palm of his hand. “This is my knife.”

“Yes.”

“Where did you get this?”

Markus lowered his voice. “You know where I got it.”

“It was the knife used to stab Pockets.”

“Yes.”

Destiny started shaking his head, slowly, back and forth, denying the truth of what was before him. The knife in his hand was an expensive folding blade with a decorative silver handle, with a golden eye filled with complicated swirls carved in the center with utmost craftsmanship.

He turned the knife in his hand so it fit properly against his fingers, then flipped the blade out. The once-pristine metal surface was coated with a rusting, flaking crust of ruddy brown. Near the base, where dripping blood hadn’t quite reached, were seven letters engraved in a delicate font.

Destiny.

Destiny looked up from the open knife. “I didn’t do this. You know I didn’t do this.”

“You could have sent those others to do it, with the knife as your calling card. To send a message that we shouldn’t mess with you and your club.”

Destiny repeated, “You know I didn’t do this. Don’t you? If you really thought I had anything to do with this, you wouldn’t have asked to meet me.”

Markus took a step back, immediately regretting it because that was showing weakness in front of someone who was potentially dangerous. He was much too aware of the sound his foot made on the sand, fine grains crunching and compressing seemingly without end. The night air, once balmy, now seemed much too cold for this time of year. “You’ve got Ralphie and the baby to protect. You’ve done more complex things in the past to protect something that you wanted to keep. Doing this would have just been a piece of cake for you.”

“Markus, for fuck’s sake. Stop it. You know I didn’t stab anyone. I didn’t send anyone to stab Pockets.” Destiny abruptly tossed the knife in the sand, then stomped on it. The blade snapped, breaking off at its hinge where it was connected to the handle. The two pieces were ugly, dark clumps on the pretty beach. “Just think about this for a second, and then try to insinuate again that I tried to murder one of your pack members.”

I wouldn’t suspect you at all if it wasn’t for the fact that you’re always so stubborn. If you thought this was the right thing to do, you would do it.

In the past, before there were two packs, Destiny arranged huge, devastating attacks on a group of career criminals who settled in the nearby area. This hadn’t just been something that affected the bikers. It was the real deal. Those men were involved in all sorts of sketchy things, from drugs to sex trafficking. They were dangerous people who had already done time in jail, who had learned to operate in a way the police couldn’t trace as easily as they had in the past.

Bikers usually weren’t the horrible, terrifying people that the general population seemed to think they were. They had done good things in the past, and would continue to do good things. Such as protecting their home city from a bunch of nasty bastards.

During those raids, Destiny had shown himself to be ruthless, calculating, and vicious. There were no deaths, but a great deal of casualties. He was certainly capable of planning such a small attack on a single person.

Yet, the more Markus thought about the possibility that those old raids could be connected with this recent occurrence, the more he started to doubt. Those had been for a good cause, as self-defense of a sort.

The ambush on Pockets had been nothing of the sort.

Destiny was watching him this entire time, Markus realized. He came out of his thoughts feeling the alpha’s gaze burning twin laser holes through him.

“I can tell you’re thinking it over. What’s your conclusion, Muffin?” Destiny reeled backwards as he realized what he’d said. “Markus, I mean. Damn. I’m sorry.”

The old nickname stung pretty badly, worse than that time he’d accepted a dare to kiss a jellyfish. Destiny scolded him for the hurt, which he hadn’t done over the flagpole incident; Markus didn’t understand the difference. However, he didn’t really hold this currentslip against Destiny. In fact, if he was honest, he was only a little surprised. It hadn’t really occurred to him that Destiny might struggle with the past as much as he did.

I won’t bring it up. There’s no point in that. We’re almost done here anyway.

“I guess you’re right,” he muttered, looking down at the broken knife in the sand. “You don’t have the balls for it.”

“Damn good thing I don’t.” Destiny sighed. His wide shoulders slumped, making him look much smaller than he actually was. “I don’t know who would try to frame me for this or why. Dammit. This feels impossible.”

“Well, apparently not.” Markus bit his lower lip, worrying at it for a moment as he thought about what he was going to say next. “Is it possible that one of your members did this for you, without you knowing? Maybe they were planning to get this started and then tell you about it, like you were going to be proud of them or something.”

Destiny gave another sigh. He was so shriveled now, a raisin of a wolf. “I don’t know. I’m going to need to ask some questions, do some investigating of my own. Did you take this to the police?”

“Brock said that it would be too risky. Too much evidence for us to be sure the humans wouldn’t pick up on it. And he didn’t want Pockets to get involved with them because it could turn out badly for him.”

Being a shifter in a world of humans was hard. The humans needed to be sheltered from the existence of the supernatural, fantastical things going on around them, or else there was no telling what might happen. Genocide was a very real possibility, given that humans had a reputation for destroying things they were afraid of.

To keep shifters a secret, there were select humans in the know. These people were usually authority figures, police officers and doctors and politicians, who could control the flow of information to the public and make it seem like nothing was out of the ordinary. The system was by no means perfect, but it was the only thing that kept peace between the two very different worlds.

There was no guaranteeing the paramedics or police officers who came to the scene of attack would be in the know. They would see scraps of fur, detect odd DNA in blood samples, witness impossible rates of healing, and then they would start asking questions that shouldn’t be asked. An isolated incident like that might fizzle out, extinguished by the very people whose job was to do that; it could also easily send off sparks, igniting a terrible chain of events.

“What about at the hospital?” Destiny pressed. “When someone comes in with a bullet wound, the police are automatically notified. Is that not the same for knife wounds?”

“Of course. But I already told you, we didn’t take it to the police. They came to us. We turned them away. Pockets turned them away, said he hadn’t seen anything, didn’t want to press charges.”

“So, this is really just between us now. LF and SC. Enemies to the end. And now someone is trying to get the war started.” Destiny ran both of his hands through his hair, silky tendrils snaking between his fingers. “As if I didn’t have enough to worry about. Well, is there anything else you have to tell me?”

Markus shook his head. “I wish there was, but no. You just needed to know that things might start getting bad. I’m going to do what I can to keep Brock cooled off. You know how he is, though.”

He loved his brother, he really did. Brock was a good leader, a calm man who enjoyed puzzles. Unfortunately, he could also be hot-headed, quick to anger, and jump to the worst conclusions. They were night and day like that, probably would have balanced each other out pretty well if they had been closer in age, if Markus stood at Brock’s side. But Markus was 23, Brock was 30, and Brock had chosen someone else to be his biggest supporter, his closest confidant. His reasoning for that was Markus was too close to the issues to be able to form unbiased ideas.

Yeah, right. It was because he was omega, because he was part of the reason there were two packs in the first place.

Although, he personally blamed Destiny.

“I do know how he is. Great. Okay.” Destiny raked his fingers through his hair again, looking skyward. The distant, blinking lights of a helicopter reflected in his eyes. “Look, if you ever want to get in touch with me again or anything, all you have to do is come find me. There doesn’t need to be any of this secrecy or anything.”

“Sure,” Markus replied, knowing he was wrong. There had to be secrecy. He couldn’t just go waltzing into SC territory, where everyone and their grandmother would be able to see him. Word would get back to his own pack and he would pretty much be toast from that point on.

“Good. Thank you again, really. But I think I should get going. I need to get back to the garage.”

“I know.”

Something lingered between them, something unspoken, something so threadlike and bare it couldn’t quite be seen at all times. It lingered just outside of the knowable realm, always slightly out of reach and understanding. There were things that should be said right here and now. Things that should be done.

As Markus was searching through his soul, his desires, to try and figure out exactly what it was that he was feeling, Destiny turned around. He shifted, becoming a beautiful alpha wolf with sandy tan-and-white brindled fur. His paws and face and the tip of his tail were pristine and glowing, making him look as if he was at least partly composed of the beach itself.

Destiny lopped away across the shore, moving at an easy trot. He skulked like a predator scouting for prey, head down, shoulders loose, body pressed low to the ground. The movement of his paws through the sand made no sound at all, disturbing only tiny puffs of sand with each and every step. Before long, the shadows swallowed his existence and left no trace behind.

Markus shifted, too. In complete contrast with what he normally would have done, he didn’t trot or run across the beach. He walked, tail and nose drooping low. The musty, rocky, mineral scent of the sand filled his nostrils with every breath. He counted shells until he ran out of numbers, shattered fragments, whole spirals and heart-shaped halves, and he still had a long way to go.

Thinking wasn’t his strong suit. He knew that. Omegas were supposed to be the thinkers, the clever ones, the more emotional half of the whole that was a mated pair. He didn’t like to do it, didn’t hold his thoughts in high regard because the damn things always got in the way of his fun. There was so much more to life than everyone seemed to think. Other people, other wolves, always sequestered themselves into these little corners where they did the same things with the same friends day in and day out. They didn’t explore. They didn’t live.

He wanted to try everything. Do everything. Be everything. Nothing was ever enough and he really didn’t ever want it to be. The experiences were more important to him than any end goal.

But he was thinking now, thinking about the old days with Destiny, and the days before that. When he had been 18 and Destiny was 20, and the whole world had been their oyster.

The days when there was only one biker gang that ruled the city, a nameless club of friends, a massive gathering of wolves who all came and went as they pleased. They almost couldn’t be called a club, since there was a distinct lack of organization.

He met Destiny when he got his first bike, rode with the gang for the first time. He could still remember the sight of the alpha, glorious and stoic and simply perfect, like he had been painstakingly carved out of marble by one of the old masters. He remembered how goddamn good it felt when Destiny smiled at him, when Destiny approved of him, when Destiny wanted to spend time with him and only him.

They tore up Pensacola on their bikes, chasing each other, existing together, coming closer and closer. Sex became a very real possibility, but Destiny always put a stop to things when they got too heavy because he “didn’t want to take advantage of Markus.”

And really, that was the big problem.

Markus wanted to do things. He played, climbed flagpoles, kissed jellyfish, took dares and bets, and followed the whim of his heart. Falling for Destiny was one of those whims. Destiny always smiled at him more than the others, so one day he went up to the alpha and asked him out on a date.

The date almost didn’t happen. Destiny thought about his answer, thought about where they would go, what would happen afterwards. If everything in his mind hadn’t worked in the exact right way, they never would have gone past that first step. Markus was convinced had their first date not gone swimmingly—but how could a low-budget horror movie at a dumpy theater and a picnic lunch in the park go wrong?—then there would have been no second chance. As it was, he took to pestering Destiny constantly, throwing ideas at him, hoping something would stick just right so something could happen.

Destiny wanted to weigh each and every consequence, categorize the risks, and just generally suck the fun out of everything. There was no such thing as spontaneity or natural progression when it came to him. His mind was an orderly thing, a library of knowledge and personality. When he came to a decision, that was it. He couldn’t be persuaded otherwise.

Markus got tired of being the one to put in so much effort. There had just been something missing, some insurmountable chasm between them that couldn’t be crossed. He tried and tried to build bridges, but all of them collapsed.

And Destiny got tired of him, because Destiny got tired of anything and everything that wasn’t exactly how he wanted it.

It was a bad breakup, a storm of foul words thrown out after yet another failed attempt by Markus to get Destiny to sleep with him. They’d been dating for some time by then, neatly crossing off all the items on the typical romantic to-do list. First date, first kiss goodnight, first time inside each other’s homes, first time spending the night with each other. The closer they got, the further apart they seemed to be. Kissing wasn’t enough. Cuddling wasn’t enough. Foreplay wasn’t enough. He wanted to know Destiny in every single way possible, to be as close to him as could be, in body and mind.

They had been making out on the couch at Destiny’s place while an old black-and-white film played in the background. Hands roaming all over, their bodies pressed together. Their lips and tongues a tangle between them, Markus slid one hand down to the bulge at the front of Destiny’s jeans.

Destiny had pulled back, a curtain slamming down in front of his hazy eyes.

Markus had unbuttoned his jeans, pulled the zipper down, and reached inside. “Have sex with me?”

It wasn’t the first time he had asked. It was, however, to be the last. Destiny resisted him, and the chasm suddenly burst wide open, lengthened by a surge of anger and frustration with all the strength of an earthquake striking against a fault line in the most perfect way.

Things escalated quickly after that. Brock acted as soon as he got the news. He declared that he and his brother would no longer have anything to do with Destiny, and anyone who had ever felt slighted or frustrated by that nasty wolf could come with him to join his new club. Lethal Freedom, he called it, coming up with the name on the spot. The club was so named because there were supposed to be no rules, no stuffy jerks holding everyone else back. Live and die by the freedom.

Not that it’s ever been like what he said it was going to be. We’ve got just as many rules as SC, just different.

Some of the wolves stayed with Destiny, and others went with Brock and Markus, and the rest filtered away to do their own thing, not really interested in getting involved in the affairs of a jilted lover and the one who had jilted him.

The rest was history.

Painful history, which haunted him even now. That was why he asked Destiny to come here, because some part of him was still loyal after all these years.

For the first time, Markus wondered if all of this would have happened in the exact same way if Destiny had sex with him. He always assumed things would have been okay if that happened. After tonight, he wasn’t so sure. Maybe they would have grown apart anyway. Seeing Destiny, talking to him, reinforced that idea for him. Not even being in charge of a pack had changed Destiny. Maybe nothing would.

Though guards still roamed across the beaches in their trucks and jeeps—and a golf cart, on one occasion—none of them came close to spotting him even though his dark fur made him stick out like a sore thumb. They couldn’t see him, their human eyes pathetic at piercing the darkness.

When he rejoined the highway leading back north to the main part of the city, Markus considered shifting back before tossing the idea. If anyone saw him, they would just assume they were looking at a large stray dog.

By the time he arrived home, dawn had made itself known across the city. Gentle fingers of rose and peach swept through the streets, bringing with them an influx of traffic as businessmen woke up and headed out for the day. Early-rising tourists would soon join the flood, followed by every other person who had work or school or errands to attend to.

Slowly, softly, Pensacola came to life again.

Brock had often posited the idea of having some sort of safe haven or meeting place where the members of LF could gather, but since Destiny had already done that so successfully, that had never happened. He didn’t want anyone to think he was copying the bastard. Never mind that several of his wolves had left to join Destiny because of the way he took better care of his pack. Brock would not be caught dead being a copycat.

So, they had a few popular hangouts. Bars, specific spots in the beach parks. Nowhere in particular, nowhere structured, since that was the whole idea behind their club. They all carried phones to stay in contact when it was necessary, though that method of communication was unreliable since shifting seemed to be incredibly rough on electronics.

So, when he arrived home, he didn’t come to a large complex where dozens of his friends would be waiting. Instead, he pushed his way through the door of a tiny house hardly large enough to contain all its rooms. The only person waiting for him was Brock.

“Where’s the knife?” Brock said.

Kicking his boots away, Markus headed for their kitchen and started opening cabinets. He was one of those thin men who could eat and eat constantly without ever really gaining any weight, due to his fast metabolism. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be, okay? I caught your scent in my room. The knife is missing. There’s no other conclusion to draw from all that.”

“You’re starting to sound like Destiny.” Finally discovering something in the depths of the pantry, Markus let out a soft murmured of satisfaction. Pulling down a box of cookies, he shook it to see how many were still inside.

“You don’t mention that bastard’s name in this house.”

“Sometimes, I think you’re more upset about that break-up than I am.”

After what I felt tonight, I’m not sure if that’s necessarily true anymore.

Surprise crossed Brock’s solid features. “Of course I’m upset about it. I love you, Mark. And he hurt you. I can’t stand for that.”

Markus blinked away tears, which surged up out of nowhere from deep inside him. He shoveled a cookie in his mouth and chomped down on it. “I love you, too.” He sprayed bits of gingerbread and cinnamon sugar while speaking, hoping the dry, muffled quality to his voice would disguise the fact that his eyes were stinging. His sinuses had that disturbing, full quality they always got right before the few occasions when he cried.

“So, where’s the knife? I’m too tired to be mad. I stayed up all night waiting for you when I realized you weren’t coming home. Was going to go to the cops if you weren’t here by noon.”

“I should have left a note. Sorry.”

“Mark. Knife?”

Well, there was no point in continuing to pretend, was there?

Swallowing thickly, Markus searched for the right words to convey what he wanted to say. There were none, so he came right out with it. “I took it with me when I went to see Destiny.”

Brock’s features abruptly tightened, screwing in on themselves like he’d tasted something particularly bitter. “You can’t be serious. Can you? What in the actual fuck would you do that for? You have a death wish?”

“He says he didn’t have anything to do with it, Brock.”

“And you believe him when he said that? Of course he was going to deny it, Mark. People don’t just admit to their crimes.”

“Destiny would,” he insisted. Cookie residue felt thick and cumbersome on his tongue. He was no longer as hungry as he had been. He popped another cookie into his mouth anyway, gnawing on the stale surface to have something to do. “You know he would.”

“I don’t know anything about him. Not my heart that he broke.”

Brock suddenly advanced. Markus tensed up, but all his brother did was place his hand on his shoulder. The pressure was warm and comforting, and he felt the ugly fullness of tears clogging up his sinuses again. “I just hope you know what you’re doing. You’re trusting your judgment. I respect that, even if I don’t agree. I just hope it turns out the way you want it to.”

“I just think he deserved to know about it.”

“It was his knife. He already knew.” Brock reached into the box of cookies and plucked one out, inspecting its craggly surface. Dropping it back with the others, he just shook his head and sighed. “I’m going to bed. I’m tired. You should probably do the same if you’ve been out and about all night.”

“Night, bro.”

Brock raised one hand as he left the kitchen, heading to his bedroom. He opened the door and shut it behind him with a soft thump.

Holding onto the cookies like they were some treasure he had found, Markus went to his own room. He navigated the messy floor in the dark, knowing exactly where each and every obstacle was because the chaotic layout hadn’t changed in months. Cleaning his room wasn’t exactly on his list of priorities.

Lounging in bed, Markus ate cookies one after another. He watched the fish tank he had set up on his dresser, where a lively red betta fish drifted peacefully between silk plants. Crawling along the bottom of the tank were a few black-and-yellow snails. They didn’t do much of anything except hoover up algae and occasionally duck down into their shells whenever the betta came by the investigate their presence in his domain. At one point, there were also a number of ghost shrimp that scampered around through the water, waving their little legs as if riding invisible bicycles, but the betta had eaten them all one-by-one, just like Markus was eating cookies. There was no point to it. It hadn’t been necessary. The betta ate twice per day, every day, and often had a fish food treat to go along with his meals.

He had just…eaten to eat. To have something to do.

I’m getting tired of that damn tank, Markus thought. He would have to see if someone wanted it. Selling the whole set-up, fish, snails, food, decorations, tank, filter, and heater, would mean he lost money, but he was getting tired of caring for the boring creature. It would take food from his hand, which he supposed was exciting the first few times, and that was about it. He was getting nothing in return.

Maybe next time, he would get something bigger. More intelligent. A snake, maybe.

Could you feed fish to a snake?

With that last, semi-coherent thought still drifting around in his brain, Markus fell asleep.