Thornhill cleared his throat. Straightened. “It’s storage.” A shrug and a smile. “Mere storage.” That was the truth. “It should probably be taken down, actually. It’s a crumbling mess, and not fit to set foot in at the moment.” A light laugh. They weren’t truly patients stored away out there, were they? No treatment was offered. No rehabilitation attempted. No, they were something else entirely. Yet he felt the burn of dishonesty as he neared its flame.

It was a necessary evil. For now.

The men looked at one another and turned again to move into the corridors. Thornhill gripped the edge of the desk. One . . . two . . . three . . .

Silence. Blissful solitude.

He exhaled. Spinning to the desk, he fumbled for the key to the lower drawer, fitting it into the lock and yanking it open. Calm. Keep calm. Grabbing handfuls of files, he tossed them into his cold hearth and struck a match.

He held back only one—a file marked “Schumann, Otto.” He flipped through it as the fire surged to life, wanting to be sure of what he remembered before disposing of the paperwork.

The man had been brought in unconscious and bedraggled by his three brothers, and even without any documentation to be had in the middle of the night, he’d kept the man as he had all the others. Within hours, papers had been drawn and two medical signatures—one forged as necessary—appeared on them. Then the volatile, powerful Otto Schumann had been locked safely in the tower, away from everyone he might hurt.

Who knew how many lives he had saved this way?

Well he knew the broken, twisted mess that often lay in wait behind even a placid face, just waiting for the right spark to ignite it into fatal explosion. Only the family knew, and so often no one believed them until it was too late. He, Dr. Thornhill, would never doubt them. He knew better.

Another stack onto the fire, one by one. His fingers paused at one folder he hadn’t glanced at in years.

Thomas Thornhill. Thomas, the amazing elder brother so full of life . . . and fear. How Thornhill had hated the way people judged his brother, afraid of his outbursts because they didn’t know him. Didn’t know how truly wonderful and friendly and vivacious he could be.

Most days. Then others . . .

No. He would not go there. A shudder passed over him, and the instant memory of the smell of smoke. The screams. It had cost him his family to believe in his brother. His entire family. No one should ever be forced to face such a loss. With a hard flick of the wrist, he tossed Thomas’s file on the fire too.

Goodbye, big brother.