The television's glow still bled across the walls when the silence hit them. The headline was gone, replaced by Alfred Stein's steady face and solemn voice, but the words had already detonated inside the room.
Dario Kosta was dead.
Ruben didn't move. His hands hung slack at his sides, his throat a knot that refused to loosen. Even Corbin, so often quick to bark or laugh, had no words. His chest rose and fell too quickly, breaths rasping through clenched teeth until the sound filled the room.
Lea's fingers were pressed tight against her mouth, her mouth, her pale grey eyes went wide and glassy. She looked as though she had just heard that the sky had collapsed. Across from her, Kade's expression was the only thing not fractured, hard and trying to stay composed.
Inside Ruben, he felt a sickness churned. His stomach turned over and over, sour and hollow, as if some part of him had been ripped out without warning. It was grief, the same clawing absence he'd felt when his mother's voice went silent forever after her leap and splash into the water.
It was the feeling that something enormous had been stolen, and in its place Alfred's words lingered like ash in his lungs.
The moment cracked when a chair clattered across the floor. Corbin staggered backwards, his elbow catching shelves, his legs failing beneath him as he knocked trinkets to the ground. His good hand clawed for balance but found nothing.
"Corbin," Lea darted forward, reaching to steady him.
"Don't touch me!" His voice cracked, half snarl, half plea, as he slapped her hand away. His heel slipped, and he went down hard, the back of his skull striking the corner of the coffee table with a dull thud.
A sharp groan tore from him, but it shifted, rising in pitch into something almost feral, frustration blurring into fury. He dragged a hand over his face, hair wild, and let out another ragged noise, part growl, part sob.
Ruben's own chest tightened. He wanted to strike something, anything, punch through a wall, break the screen, feel Alfred Stein's throat under his knuckles. But he stayed still, jaw locked, his restraint the only thing holding back a flood of violence.
Kade's voice cut through, flat and cool. "You two…" His gaze narrowed, flicking between the boys. "You're the ones he spoke about. The children of Dario Kosta."
The room went still again. No one answered, but silence itself betrayed them. Ruben's shoulders stiffened. Corbin, still on the floor, pressed his lips together until they bled.
Lea's eyes went wide with disbelief, her hand frozen halfway in the air. "You…" she whispered, the word trembling, "you're the ones he took in?"
"We only met him two years ago." Ruben said at last. His stare dropped to the floor. "That's when we awakened our Egos."
The words hung there, heavy and unkind. For a moment, no one breathed.
Corbin drew his knees up, his chest heaving. "We're finished," he muttered, his voice breaking apart. "They'll hunt us like dogs. We don't even have time anymore."
Ruben swallowed hard. He forced himself upright, though his knees felt as brittle as glass. His eyes burned, but he didn't blink. "I don't know what to do," he admitted, his voice stripped bare. "I don't know where to go. We're now on borrowed time."
Lea finally found her breath. She crouched down slightly, her expression softening with a rare gentleness. "Listen to me," she said firmly, though her voice wavered at the edges. "We'll reach out to our contact. We'll figure out the next step. You don't have to decide right now. But for now, rest. We'll leave you be."
Her words landed like a blanket too thin to guard against the cold.
She tugged Kade's sleeve, urging him toward the door. He lingered for a moment longer, his eyes still fixed on the boys, hard and searching, before turning away. The door clicked shut behind them.
And then Ruben and Corbin were alone.
The house felt cavernous now, the silence ringing louder than Alfred's broadcast. Ruben stood rigid, his fists trembling at his sides. Corbin sat hunched on the floor, blood in his hair where he'd struck the table, breathing ragged and uneven.
Neither spoke. The grief, the fear and the disbelief all sat heavily between them, a weight too great to share, but impossible to ignore.
***
The silence between them stretched long after the television dimmed to static.
But Ruben didn't let it go on for long.
"I'm happy I met you, Corbin." His fingers twisted against his knees. "You're my best friend. I … I don't think I would have even made it this far without you. I'm grateful for the chance to know you."
Corbin didn't look up. His head stayed buried between his knees, arms wrapped tight around himself. For a moment, Ruben thought maybe the words had fallen into emptiness. Then, slowly, Corbin lifted his face. His eyes were raw, rimmed red, his cheeks damp with the tears he never would have let others see.
"Do you mean that?" His voice was hoarse, breaking in the middle. "Do you really think me being in your life is a good thing? That I actually add something… anything?"
The question pierced deeper than Ruben expected. He blinked, taken aback, before leaning forward slightly. His answer was steady. "Yes. I mean it. Even with what we just heard… I don't think I could face it alone."
Corbin swallowed hard, the words settling into him like slow-burning fire. He let out a shaky breath. "Thanks. I… I'm happy I met you too. These past years, even with everything going to hell… it's still been better than my last life."
Ruben gave a small nod. But Corbin's face tightened, and he lowered his eyes again.
"I still struggle," he said quietly, like confessing a sin. "I get angry all the time. More than I should. And it's the anger, it's… it's comforting. I've lived with it so long it feels natural. If I'm calm for too long, it feels wrong, like something big is coming to remind me of my place."
Ruben's chest tightened. He recognized the weight of those words. "I understand," he admitted. "I grew up scared, sad or angry all the time. It felt better since I kind of knew what to expect. But I never liked it."
Corbin let out a hollow sigh. "In my first life, I was some dumb bully. Spoiled. My mom's money bought me everything. Everyone treated me like I was someone important, sometimes it just didn't go well. But I leaned into it a lot. Like I expected people to bow to me, and I enjoyed it."
Ruben frowned. "You were still a kid."
Corbin's jaw trembled. He stared at the floor as though it might swallow him. "I wanted to fix it. All of it. This new life felt like a chance to do something right." His hands curled into fists, knuckles whitening. "I wanted to be a Paladin. A Warlord. To prove I could do something good, not just for myself, but for others too. Something that mattered and something that would last."
Ruben tilted his head. His voice was softer now. "Why do you feel like you have to do so badly?"
The silence stretched again, longer this time. Corbin's throat bobbed as he tried to swallow it back, but finally, the truth forced its way out. "Because I killed my cousin."
Ruben's breath caught.
Corbin's voice cracked. "Luc. I treated him like dirt, every chance I got. I pushed him around, humiliated him, made him feel worthless, because I could. And then he died. Just like that. Gone. And it was my fault."
He pressed his palms over his face, voice muffed. "Dario accepted us anyway. He looked at me and didn't just turn me away and throw money at me hoping things would go right. He never knew the truth about me. I cheated him. And now he's gone, and I'll never get the chance."
Ruben leaned forward, his own throat tightening. "Corbin… there was nothing we could've done. We'd only get in his way."
Ruben didn't know what to say in relation to Corbin's cousin.
But then, without a warning something twisted inside of him. His stomach lurched, his chest constricted, and words tore out of his mouth before he could stop them.
"I don't think Dario's really dead."
The room froze. Corbin's head shot up, eyes wide. "What?"
Ruben blinked, startled by what he's just said. But the certainty in him only grew. "I just… don't feel like he's gone."
Corbin's face darkened. He slammed his palm against the floor with a sharp crack. "You can't say that and then tell me it's just a feeling. I need more than that, Ruben. I need a reason."
"I don't have one." Ruben admitted. "It's just a… gut feeling." Saying that aloud really made him feel stupid.
Corbin snarled and shot to his feet, the chair clattering backward. His whole body trembled as he turned toward the door. "I'm going out."
Ruben sat frozen, staring at the empty space where Corbin had been.
He whispered into the quiet, daring someone to call him out on his words.
"I don't think Dario is dead."