Irwin closed the last few steps with a predator's gait, eyes burning with that old, entitled fury. He wanted a rise - not for Isaac, but for their father. He wanted Fletcher Sr. to nod, to see the power he could exert, to reaffirm his place as the son the family had bred for domination.
Isaac didn't look up. He sat at the table, fork paused mid-bite, the calm of someone who'd seen worse and come back. That only irritated Irwin more.
"Are you ignoring me, little brother?" Irwin snapped, then reached across and acted up for their father's approval. He grabbed Isaac's plate and hurled its contents onto him. Grease and eggs splattered across Isaac's clothes and the polished wood. The hall went still.
But that still received no reaction from Isaac, who merely wiped some food from his face and ate something that landed on his shirt.
