It was a fool’s promise to make, but something about the way her voice smoothed out on the words made Wesley shift. The room felt small. Smaller than the cells he’d been locked up in with Zekia’s shadow demon.

“Malik,” she said. “You’re my b—”

Wesley didn’t wait to hear what she had to say before he pushed past her and all but leaped from the room. He didn’t stop until he was back out in the forest, taking in a gulping breath of the leafy winds.

But it didn’t make a difference and that name still called out to him.

Malik.

Tavia was on the forest floor, legs folded, a dozen charms spread by her bare toes. She looked wild and beautiful in the moonlight and Wesley wanted to call to her but he couldn’t find his voice.

He could only hear that name, over and over in his mind.

Unlocking something, awakening something that wanted to stay sleeping.

Malik.

Saxony yelled after him and when Wesley spun back to her suddenly, she was with her amja and her father.

“Wesley?” Tavia asked.

He could hear her footsteps behind him on the grass as she approached.

“What’s going on?”

Wesley shook his head and held out a hand to stop her from coming closer.

“Don’t be afraid of this,” Saxony said.

Wesley felt fire at his fingertips.

“I’m never afraid,” he said.

“Can someone explain to me what’s going on?” Tavia asked.

“I’ve finally found Malik,” Saxony said.

“Your brother?”

“I’m not her brother,” Wesley snarled. “I have a family and they may not have loved me, but they were mine and they could still be out there.”

“They’re not,” Saxony’s amja said. “I promise you that they are gone.”

Wesley couldn’t stand the sound of the old woman’s voice in that moment. He hated that one by one they were trying to unravel his past. It might not have been perfect, but it was his. His childhood, his memories, and they had no right to try to change them.

“The Thornton Walcotts were murdered twelve years ago,” Saxony said. “Ashwood likes his buskers to be orphans.”

“Bullshit,” Wesley said. “He didn’t know I had a family when he took me in.”

“There’s not much that beast doesn’t know,” Saxony’s amja said. “And believe me when I tell you that the way your guardians were killed was nothing short of beastly.”

Wesley never had much love for his family, because they’d never had much love for him, and he was a big proponent in giving as good as you got. He barely remembered their faces, but the thought of them being dead, and not just by the magic sickness or some rogue accident, but by very deliberate hands, made him feel dirty.