Luminous

83 - Honor Bound

"It's inside Zier, isn't it?"

Coris's first thought was that he must have imagined it. He turned around as slowly as he dared without giving away his fear—that he needed those precious split-seconds to compose himself. First, gather information. How much they knew and what they suspect would determine the recipe for the most believable lie.

"Father, please, we both know for a fact it isn't."

Coris smiled and threw up his bare hands, the body language signaling openness—which Father pointedly ignored. He stood up and resumed pacing.

"He was planning to confess—just didn't have the courage to follow through." He halted his feet. Heaving a sigh, he shook his head.

"All this time." He turned and met Coris's horrified stare. "Why, Coris?"

Coris studied those mournful blue eyes filled with guilt, and knew there was no longer an explanation, or a pithy quip to distract at the least.

It's over.

The realization crashed into him, six years' worth of high tide made up of as much fear as relief. All these years, it was as if he'd been drowning under the weight of the sea, so long he'd forgotten what it was like to have empty shoulders and breathe freely, but the surface air was freezing cold on his bare skin. Cold as that hidden chamber felt that night, as he confronted Zier.

He looked past Father and saw his little brother, as solid and vivid as the present, trembling, hunched in the corner. He tried to speak. His lips were numb from the chill.

"I found him with the puzzle box—open—on the floor. He was holding something—The Axel."

He saw Zier clutching the unseen artifact closer to his heart, saw the anguish in his wide, round eyes. Tears bubbled up in his eyes as he remembered what would follow.

"He saw I was about to yell for someone. He stuffed it in his mouth, swallowed it."

He saw his parents in their nightgowns, pale and disheveled in the lamplight. Memories blended into reality. They hadn't changed much. He lowered his gaze to the carpet, shaking his head.

"When you found us, he—he looked so scared. I—I should've known it was unnecessary, but I—" The cry he'd been suppressing for six years swelled to fill his throat, suffocating him.

"You acted on instinct. To protect him." Father's knowing voice was a mere whisper. Coris closed his eyes. He couldn't face them as he battled the festering emotions fighting to burst free. "I should've seen through that, but I—assumed the worst of you."

Despite himself, Coris looked up. Father had his fingers pressed over his eyes, shoulders shaking. Coris's heart wavered. He turned sharply away, willing it to still.

"It was only natural." He shrugged and hitched up a bitter grin. "Months ago, I was still a monster."

"Lexi!" Mother scolded. There was heartbreak in her exasperation, and Coris finally succumbed. He let his spine curve, his face hidden behind his trembling hand.

"I never imagined it would become—this—"

He gestured feebly, making up for his lost voice. Hot tears fell onto his palm, slid down his wrist, then stained his sleeve. His parents must have noticed, but he didn't dare peel his hand from his eyes and reveal the embarrassment underneath.

Father and Mother fell silent. His sniffling was now the only sound in the room. He hardly dared breathe. Sighing, Father walked back to the chair and settled down.