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Where am I? A bed. In a room I do not know.

Unfamiliar scents. The ocean.

The last thing I remember was…

I sit up suddenly, hearing Ciro’s voice, agitated, low, coming from the other room. Like he is trying to argue quietly.

I slip from the bed, wobbling a bit. The door is pushed to, leaving a crack wide enough for me to see out of.

Creeping to the wall beside the door, I waver, still dizzy from the tranquilizer.

Bastard shot me. Ciro’s brother shot me.

Among other things.

“You haven’t told me what you intend to do with us.” Ciro sounds put out. Tired.

“I haven’t decided. Abas wants you to go back.Youwant to go back.”

“So what’s the problem?” Ciro sniffs, probably making that face he makes when he knows he is right. I hate that face. But now, I love it.

Ero stays silent, but I can almost feel his anger, his hopelessness from here. I noticed it in the way he fights too. Without any regard for his life. It gives him an edge of sorts.

But so can fighting with a purpose. The way Ciro and I do.

Leaning to the side, I get them both in my line of sight, facing each other across from the hallway to the bedroom. Ciro is sitting, Ero leans on the counter.

They are much alike, in gesture, in tone. But Ciro has passion. Purpose. Ero is hollow.

Both of them have scars from many battles, but the one that stands out to me is the brand on Ero’s neck. The same symbol on his mask. The symbol my brother drew in blood.

The same blood that now boils in my veins.

Rage has a way of blinding people.

It also can help you focus. Give you clarity in a moment of adrenaline-fueled necessity.

Thinking back to the wounds on Matvey’s body, I check off the bullet wounds. But those are not what killed him. It was a stab. From a very specific blade.

A blade very much like the one sitting on the dresser across from me. It is a specific shape. Meant for eviscerating. Making a wound that cannot be staunched.

“Ero…” I hear my lover’s voice again, unsure. He is torn. I can tell. And I do not blame him. I wish every day to see Matvey again. Even if I know this is a fantasy.

But Ciro is in dangerous waters.

This is where I must step in.

To make sure he does not let Ero manipulate him. Ciro is clearly still having trouble putting the two together, reconciling the idea that the masked man is his late brother.

I have no qualms.

He is the enemy.

Grabbing the dagger, I slip from the room, flying low. My head spins only slightly as I rush for Ero’s leg, slashing, not aiming to cut him, but his holster.

The gun drops into my other hand and I roll to my feet, taking aim at his head.

“You killed my brother, you son of a bitch.”