The whistle of birds and the light of the morning sun burned the night away. When it slipped through the blinds and crawled across his bed, Heylel stirred.
For a second, he considered sleeping in, but he dismissed it. Andrew.
He sighed into the covers; his breath fogged the fabric. Cold morning.
Groaning, he pushed himself upright and risked a glance out the window, only to flinch as light sanded its way into his eyes. Aura was useless when dormant.
He clambered off the bed and freshened up in the attached bathroom, leaving the sheets as they were. He had servants for that. He had other rooms too, in other homes, in other cities. A thought surfaced: whether this counted as a settled life at all, or if he was simply a nomad with better furniture. Either way, the result was the same. The room was bare. Like all the others.
Finished, Heylel left his room, followed the walkway down the stairs, and entered the hall.
Andrew was already at the table, a jacket hanging off his thin frame, downing a glass of fruit juice.
Heylel preferred solid fruit, but he didn't comment. "Morning," he said, taking a glass laid out for him.
"Morning," Andrew replied, nodding toward the kitchen counter.
A covered plate waited there.
So. Andrew had taken up kitchen duty.
"This is not going to end well," Heylel said, biting his tongue as if the words had slipped out by accident.
Andrew rolled his eyes. "Oh please. I can make a sandwich."
Heylel gave him a flat look but still crossed the room, flicking the cover aside.
The sandwich looked acceptable.
That alone was suspicious.
Regardless, he picked it up and took a bite.
His tongue registered the mistake a heartbeat later.
Heylel spat the mouthful back onto the plate.
"The fuck?"
Andrew laughed.
There was a rancid bitterness clinging to his tongue. Heylel pulled the bread apart.
Papaya peels. Jammed in deliberately, white pith and all.
He stared at it for a long second.
"Why?" Heylel turned to his brother.
Andrew grinned. "Because you're impossible to wake up properly."
"That's not true."
"Four faunus last night," Andrew said mildly, "and you still tried to sleep through breakfast."
Heylel clicked his tongue and shoved the plate away. "You're an ass."
Andrew laughed, crossed the room, and slid another plate toward him—this one uncovered.
Actual food. Eggs and bacon.
"Eat," Andrew said. "I'm not trying to poison you. I just wanted to see your face."
Heylel eyed him, then the plate. He took a cautious bite.
Normal. Blessedly normal.
"You're lucky I like you," Heylel muttered.
"You love me," Andrew said easily, already standing. "And you'd do the same if you'd thought of it first. Or woke up first."
Heylel didn't deny that.
Andrew's tone shifted then, the smile fading away.
"Finish up," he said. "We've got things to talk about."
That was the signal.
Heylel straightened slightly. "Father?"
Andrew nodded once.
He clapped Heylel on the shoulder and headed for the door.
"Be quick," Andrew added. "Try not to murder your breakfast."
Heylel snorted despite himself.
Brothers.
Then Andrew was gone from the hall.
Leaving Heylel to follow.
———
——
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Andrew sat still in the back of the car, legs folded neatly, formal jacket immaculate despite the early hour.
"Sir," the driver said, "Master asked for you in ten minutes."
"He's just sorting out his thoughts," Andrew replied mildly. "We won't be late."
No sooner had the words left him than the front door opened.
Heylel stepped onto the porch, coat already fastened. He didn't look back at the house as he descended the steps.
Andrew watched him through the window.
"See?" he said.
Heylel slid into the seat opposite him. The door shut. Inside, he leaned back, gaze drifting to the window.
"Ready?" Andrew asked.
Heylel exhaled. "As I'll ever be."
The engine started. Rubber found purchase on asphalt, and the car rolled forward.
Andrew's eyes followed the world as it slipped past. Their estate gave way to the main road—restaurants and cafés lining either side. All shuttered. Empty.
"A quiet morning," Andrew said.
"Which morning isn't?" Heylel replied, already pulling out his scroll, his attention drifting through its contents.
"You'd be surprised." Andrew smiled faintly as he tapped his brother's shoulder.
Heylel looked up in time to see him gesture toward the window.
Ahead, three figures walked together, long white coats brushing their calves. What stood out weren't the clothes but the features beneath them. Long ears. Tails.
"Either a school," Heylel said, "or a gang."
"Long way from school," Andrew murmured. "Early, too."
There was something almost pleased in his tone.
Heylel raised his scroll and snapped a photo as they passed, the figures slipping out of view a second later.
"See?" Andrew laughed quietly. "Not always quiet."
Heylel rolled his eyes. "Don't let everything get to your head."
Andrew chuckled. "Send it to me. I'll have Sten run it through the cameras."
"Let me handle it," Heylel said, fingers already finishing across the screen.
"No, no, no." Andrew smirked, holding up a hand as his scroll vibrated. Once. "Not your call."
Heylel put his scroll away. "Come on. Father doesn't need to know."
"You aren't getting power without work." Andrew's smile sharpened, just a little.
He shrugged. "Worth a try."
Andrew shook his head and tapped two fingers lightly against Heylel's temple. Heylel flinched more out of habit than pain, rubbing the spot. "Hey."
Andrew didn't respond. His eyes were already back on the road.
So, the play had ended.
The car slowed long before the gates came into view.
Iron rose from trimmed hedges, black bars set with gold filigree that caught the morning light. Two guards stood at attention as the vehicle approached. Neither moved until the crest on the hood came fully into view. Then the gates parted without a word.
Andrew didn't look at them.
Heylel did—just long enough to note the shift in posture, the way hands moved closer to hilts once they realized who sat inside.
The car rolled through.
Gravel crunched beneath the tires as the estate opened up ahead of them. Broad steps. Stone columns. Windows tall enough to make one feel small.
Andrew exhaled slowly.
"Remember," he said, still facing forward, "he's not angry."
"I don't know if that's better," Heylel replied.
Andrew allowed himself a thin smile. "Depends."
"It always does."
The car came to a stop.
A servant was already there, door opening before the engine had fully died. Andrew stepped out first, posture perfect, expression neutral. Heylel followed a heartbeat later.
Inside, the house was quiet, clean, almost enough to feel desolate. Then again, desolate didn't have to mean clean. The combination often meant money spent like water.
Regardless, they weren't kept waiting.
The study doors stood open.
Father sat behind his desk, hands folded, gaze fixed on a document he wasn't reading. His hair had gone more gray since Heylel last saw him. The lines at the corners of his eyes were deeper too.
He didn't look up when they entered.
"Almost late." He noted.
"Not late then," Heylel answered.
"No," He finally looked up. Expressionless as always.
"Sit," he said.
They did.
There was a silence then as a servent brought in tea and left, closing the door behind him.
The tea steamed between them.
Father lifted his cup but didn't drink. His eyes stayed on Heylel instead.
"You've been busy," he said.
"Not by initiative," Heylel lied.
Father set the cup down. Carefully.
"The Morning Daily should have reported four Faunus detained," he said. "What did it report instead?"
"Killed," Heylel replied.
Father inclined his head a fraction. "You have the training. The ability. So why?"
Heylel met his gaze. Black to black. "My own safety."
Father's expression didn't change.
"The story I read today," he said evenly, "was Corporate Son Saves Store from Robbery. Fights Four Thieves and Wins."
Andrew didn't move.
"Better than I expected," Heylel said, fingers tracing the rim of his cup.
Father's eyes sharpened. "It was meant to be."
He leaned forward slightly. Deliberately.
"So I'll ask you once," he said. "Why did you kill?"
Heylel's jaw tightened. "It was the safest option."
Father exhaled through his nose.
"With your training," he said, "the difference between a ninety-nine percent outcome and a ninety-eight percent outcome is rounding error."
Silence pressed down.
"So don't insult me," Father continued, voice calm, "by calling this necessity."
Heylel didn't look away.
Father straightened.
"You killed because it was simpler."
No. Heylel wanted to say. But he didn't. He couldn't. The word was scarred into this throat.
So, he chose silence.
Father didn't wait for an answert. His eyes shifted to Andrew, "The picture you sent to Sten."
"Yes father?"
"Good work," He said, eyeing Heylel through the corner of his eyes. Heylel realised, he knew who took it. As always. But how?
"Since the night incident we have spotted three more groups. All appearing four hours after the incident." He found that out in the five minutes since Heylel had taken it? Impossible. He already knew.
"Are they circling us?" Andrew asked.
Father didn't answer at once.
He reached for the teacup again, lifted it, inhaled the steam, then set it back down. Untouched.
"Circling implies intent," he said at last. "Intent implies coordination."
Andrew's fingers folded together in his lap. "And?"
"And I dislike assumptions," Father replied. "They get people killed."
Heylel said nothing. He was already counting the hours. Four after the incident. Three more groups. Coincidence died then. Openly too.
"They are very bold about it, almost conceited," Heylel voiced.
Father's gaze returned to him.
It held him for a moment.
"Boldness," he said at last, "is often mistaken for confidence."
Andrew glanced between them. "And conceit?"
Father's mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly. "Is usually a mask."
Heylel leaned back slightly in his chair. "For fear?"
"For impatience," Father corrected. "Fear keeps its distance. Impatience draws close."
He tapped one finger against the desk. Once.
"They want a reaction," he continued.
Andrew frowned. "So we don't give it to them?"
"Silence is a reaction," Father's words were colder than the marble beneath their feet. "We're Task, Andrew, we don't back down. Not in Vale. Never in Vale."
He turned his gaze toward the large window behind his desk, looking out over the manicured gardens toward the distant, hazy skyline of the city.
"They want Heylel. Let's give them Heylel," He continued. Heylel's eyes shot open. His lips twitching into a burning smile.
"Father," Andrew broke in. "Four bodies is enough danger."
He didn't mind the interruption. He didn't even look at Andrew. His eyes travelled to Heylel. And he saw an eagerness…he wished he didn't.
"The danger is already here, Andrew," Father said, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with finality. "They dare walk in our neighborhood. Remind them who we are."
He leaned back, the leather of his chair creaking in the silence.
"The reconstruction of the Commercial District docks," Father continued. "The Task & Treaties signature is on the arbitration for the new berths. There is a walk-through today with the port authorities. You will attend in my stead, Heylel."
"The docks?" Andrew's voice was sharp, shedding his usual calm. "That's a damn playground for the gangs. Absolutely not."
Father turned his head slowly, the movement precise, mechanical. "And since when," he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, "do the Tasks fear playgrounds?"
Andrew's jaw tightened. He didn't back down—he never did—but the anger in his eyes shifted into cold thought. He knew when he would not have his way.
It's reckless," Andrew insisted, though the fire had left his voice, replaced by cold pragmatism. "If they're coordinated, they'll have spotters on the cranes. Escape routes stalked."
"Then it is fortunate," Father said, picking up his pen and returning his gaze to the document, dismissing them, "that I am sending my two best sons."
He was final.
So, they both stood.
He paused, the pen hovering over the paper.
"Andrew, you will secure the perimeter. I want you unseen. If a leaf falls in that district, I want to know who dropped it."
He shifted his gaze to Heylel.
"And you. You will walk the site. Arrogantly." Father's eyes narrowed. "But remember, I don't want body bags, I want names."
"Go. Change," Heylel left, Andrew started to follow.
"And Andrew?"Andrew paused at the door, hand on the brass handle.
"Father?"
"Keep him safe."
He didn't get an answer as Andrew left.
For there was no need to answer such a question.
Alone again, the father sighed.
Outside, the hallway was cooler, vast and echoing. They walked in silence for ten paces, the sound of their shoes sharp against the tiled floor.
Then Andrew stopped.
He turned, grabbing Heylel by the lapels of his jacket and shoving him back against the wall.
It wasn't an attack. Heylel knew that.
"He's using you as a lightning rod," Andrew hissed, his face inches from Heylel's. The perfect composure was gone, replaced by something raw. "Do you get that? He's dangling you out there so he can see where the bullet comes from."
Heylel didn't struggle. He let his head rest against the wainscoting, looking calmly into Andrew's eyes.
"I know the play, Andrew."
"I don't care if you know the fucking play!" Andrew released him, spinning away to pace a tight circle on the marble floor. He ran a hand through his hair, ruining the careful styling.
"I care that you're the one in the crosshairs," Andrew spat, his voice dropping to a frantic whisper. "You've been back in Vale for twenty-four hours. Twenty-four fucking hours."
He stopped and looked at Heylel, with an expression Heylel didn't like. Pain.
"We promised we'd keep each other alive," Andrew said, his voice cracking. "This… this isn't it."
Heylel bit his lip. He stepped forward, lowering his voice.
"He isn't gambling, Andrew," Heylel said, trying to believe it himself. "He calculates risk. He doesn't gamble with us."
Andrew stared at him, searching for the lie in Heylel's eyes. He didn't find one. Or maybe he just chose not to see it.
The tension in Andrew's shoulders finally broke, bleeding out into a long, ragged exhale.
"Math doesn't stop bullets, Heylel," Andrew muttered, though the anger had drained away, replaced by a weary resolve.
He straightened his jacket, they were Task, two of three in the whole damn world. So they knew to act like it.
"Fine," Andrew said. "We do it his way. But we do it on our terms."
He looked up, eyes sharp again.
"Wear the trench coat with the ballistic weave. The grey one. And take a fifty cal pistol. The firing is slow, but if you need to shoot through a shipping container, you'll want it."
"I prefer the speed of the—"
"Heylel." Andrew's voice brooked no argument. "Wear the damn coat. Take the fifty."
Heylel held up his hands in surrender. "The cannon. Fine."
Andrew nodded, satisfied. He turned to walk toward the armory, then paused.
"And Heylel?"
"Yeah?"
"If they touch you," Andrew said, not looking back, his voice low and devoid of humanity, "forget the interrogation. Kill them all. I'll deal with it."
Heylel watched his brother walk away.
"Love you too, Andrew," he whispered to the empty hall.
Inside him, the storm stirred.
The docks were waiting.
———
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[A/N: Thoughts?]