“Father asked you a question.” Archer’s harsh voice snapped Bren’s attention to him. He sat perched on the edge of the sofa, arms tightly folded across his chest and eyes full of disdain. The firelight behind him made him look menacing.   

Anger ground out in Bren’s response as he fired back, “I know.” His eyes shifted to look at his father, who had a stern brow raised, waiting. He held his father’s gaze, his breath shuddering out of him with a deep and heavy sigh as he finally answered, “I just don’t know what you want me to say. You know where I was.”

It was his mother that spoke, her slender hands gripping the armrests of her chair in a vice as she leaned forward. “The black market? Again?” she asked, almost desperately. Her anger gave way to fear in her wide eyes, lips parted in horror as if she were waiting for him to deny it. When he stayed silent she raised her voice, shouting, “You went to the outskirts of the city!? When we explicitly told you it was too dangerous after last time—!” 

“What exactly do you expect me to do?” Bren barked back defensively. His heart was pounding, guilt and fury warring inside him as he bared his teeth and answered savagely, “Every Manos socialite will be parading around our home tomorrow for his,” Bren jabbed his finger toward his brother, half wishing his powers would shoot forth and make him eat his smug expression, “stupid birthday!” He returned his hands to his side in fists, aching to touch the coin that felt heavy in his cloak pocket. He ripped his gaze away from Archer, staring back at his parents as he explained, “I needed a vessel! I can’t use magic without one, not without suffering the consequences. And I can’t appear beside all of you at the celebration and not use magic. It’s expected, it’s in our blood.”

There was a scoff from Archer, resentment in his stare as he chided, “Well, evidently, not in yours.” 

Bren’s brows twitched, his body flinching at the words as he felt a physical pain lance through his chest. He had no comeback, Archer shocking him into stunned silence. 

Their mother let out a brisk huff, deeply displeased as she murmured, “Archer, that is not helpful at the moment—”

“He’s right,” Bren interjected, nodding slowly as he shrugged. It was a bitter truth, one that put him in his place and locked him there in a gilded cage. “I’m not a Manos.” His rage flared, lip curling up in a snarl as he seethed, “But good luck making a point of that without taking down every member of this godforsaken family!”

Archer stood up from where he’d been seated, ready for a fight, but their father’s strong arm stretched out in front of him, stopping Archer from lunging forward. 

Bren didn’t know if he was grateful or irritated he wouldn’t have the chance of showing his brother exactly what he was made of. Either way, his father had clearly had enough. “Archer. Step outside.” His deep voice carried through the room, making Bren stand at attention and grit his teeth. 

Opening his mouth to no doubt utter a foul retort, Archer seemed to think better of the idea, keeping his lips closed instead. He let out an angry grunt, shouldering his way past Bren before he left the sitting room, and slammed the door shut with a loud thud behind him. 

Bren felt his shoulders instantly relax, letting out a disgruntled sigh before he brought his full attention back to his parents, both staring at him anxiously. His father’s face looked suddenly aged and weary as he let out a deep exhale and took a seat across from his wife. The fire only lit half of their faces, the other side obscured as they stared at each other before looking back at Bren. “Sit down, Brennon,” his father demanded. Though his voice was hard and unbending, there was a tired tone in it as well. “And tell us everything.”

Guilt flooded Bren as he sat on the sofa flanked by his parents’ seats, a low, central coffee table separating all of them. Bren glanced at his reflection in the glass surface of the table, immaculately polished, before he folded his hands together on his lap. He grimaced at the dark stain on his fingers, pores raised with the remnants of monstrous quills. “Where to begin?” he murmured, squeezing his eyes shut as he thought about the attack. 

“From the beginning,” his mother answered, her voice far softer. There was a shuffling sound as she got up from her chair, Bren looking up to see her walk around the table. The cushions dipped as she sat next to him, taking his hand into her gentle hold before her fingers lit with a soft glow, just as Archer’s had. She didn’t look at Bren as she asked, “What happened this time?”

Bren watched as his mother healed his hands with far more experience and success than his brother. Though he wondered if it was for his sake, there was a nagging feeling in his stomach; in the Endrith household, everything was to keep up with appearances.  

“I was attacked. A man tried to mug me in an alleyway…and I had to defend myself.” Bren swallowed, his stomach quivering with nausea at the memories. He looked down at the elongated shadows between his feet, reminded of the blood that had run through the streets. He let out a soft, anguished noise as he closed his eyes…and then opened them to look at his father. “I killed him.”

His father’s eyes grew wide with shock and he felt his mother flinch beside him, her hands stilling. “You…killed him?” his father asked, voice thin as he sucked in a deep inhale, willing himself to stay calm. “How did you dispose of the body?” 

Bren jolted at the callous question. There was no anger in his father’s voice—not even disappointment. Instead, it was cold and calculated, his eyes narrowed as he waited for Bren’s answer. 

Glancing at his mother for guidance, Bren watched as she stayed silent, keeping her head down as she continued to undo the corruption that had eaten away at her son’s hands. 

Blinking to his father, Bren couldn’t stop himself from stuttering as he said, “I— I couldn’t dispose of it.” He watched his father’s eye twitch, quickly explaining, “The prosecutors were on me in minutes. I barely had time to use the Shadow Gate…and hardly enough energy to make it all the way here.”

His father stood, folding his hands behind his back as he began pacing. His eyes flit across the ground as if he were sifting through his thoughts, focused on something Bren couldn’t see. When he spoke, anger crackled through his voice like a current. “How did they find you so quickly?”

Clenching his jaw, Bren could feel the undertone of accusation. “They must have tracked the vessel I was using.” 

“Well,” his father said with a sigh, “the good news is that they won’t be able to track you here. Not with the wards and protections we’ve ensured around the estate…” His eyes flashed, scanning over Bren as he instructed, “Show us the vessel.” 

Carefully pulling his hand away from his mother’s healing, Bren reached for the coin in his pocket, remembering the jolt of agony after the last time he’d touched it. Keeping the connection of magic closed, he plucked the coin out of his pocket and put it on the table for his parents’ inspection. It rattled as it hit the glass surface, Bren holding his breath as he looked at the charred edges; burnt and corrupted by the overuse of magic…just like him. 

The warmth of his mother’s healing stopped as she looked up at the thick, golden coin glinting in the firelight.  “Where did you get that? It’s not one we gave you…”

Feeling his pulse thrum, Bren looked down at his once again human hands, admitting, “I stole it.”

He heard the disgruntled noise rip from his mother’s throat before he looked at her to see her eyes blazing. “You stole it? Why? What happened to the last one we acquired?”

“I’ve been using them up more quickly than before. I’m hardly surprised when all we can get are such low grade vessels. How am I supposed to keep up with everything this family demands for our appearance when each time I use my magic, the corruption poisoning me worsens?”

She stood, towering over him in the shadows like a banshee where he sat. “Do you have any idea what your father and I have done to keep you safe? For twenty-three years, Brennon! You’re not a child anymore, you should know better! Do you want to be discovered? Do you want to be exiled from Vitalos? You’d never survive the Wastelands! No one does! It’s bad enough that vessels are illegal—!”

“Everything I am is illegal!” Bren snapped, standing so he could look down on his mother. He tugged at his dark hair, his skull tight with pressure. “The last time my vessel was depleted, the corruption almost killed me. I don’t want to turn into a monster!” His voice was raw, throat tight and burning with emotion. “I did what I could to ensure it wouldn’t happen again…and still, it wasn’t enough.” Bren looked at his hands, free of any remnants of corruption. Without the healing magic of the Manos, would he still look like some eldritch horror?

His mother’s hands went up to cup his face, guiding Bren to look at her. Her eyes were filled with tears, glistening in the dim as she sucked in a breath. There was pain and anguish in her voice as she said, “You’re my son, and I love you, but if you keep putting yourself in danger like this, you’re going to ruin your life. And not just your life.” Her words sent an ache through Bren’s very being, his hands reaching up to cover hers. Her voice was quiet, pleading as she uttered, “Every time you skirt too close to the sun, you take all of us with you. You put us all at risk.” She swallowed, hesitating before she uttered, “The only hope we have is to keep your powers hidden and keep you safe… Don’t you understand that?” 

Bren pried his mother’s hands from his face, shaking his head as he stepped away from her. “Hidden?” He stared at his father, searching for a voice of reason, but he was silent, refusing to even look at him. Bren scoffed in anger, his eyes returning to his mother. “Are you suggesting I don’t use magic? At all?”

“Brennon—”

“I have to use magic. It will tear me apart from the inside if I don’t—!”

“You can’t.” It was his father, morose and firm as he stepped forward to stand next to his wife. “We don’t have the means of securing another vessel right now. Not so soon after acquiring the last one. Especially not with the scrutiny around the city outskirts, thanks to your outing today.” The statement jabbed Bren with guilt, though his father hardly seemed to notice as he said, “Still, the vessel you stole clearly isn’t enough to stave off the corruption when you use your magic…and we can’t risk someone seeing your disfigurements in public. If there is no suitable vessel, then the only solution is for you to stop using magic and pray that no one notices until we can safely secure another.”

In that very moment Bren could feel his magic surge through his veins; it was as if it were alive and refusing to obey, wanting to make itself known. Bren trembled, holding himself back from letting his emotions rule him as his eyes darted toward the coin, still sitting unassumingly on the glass table. He shook his head, eyes darting to his parents as he stated, “I can’t stop it. Not even if I wanted to.” He could see their expressions change, his defiance shocking them, but he refused to stay silent. “You want me to pretend to be a Manos just like you? Then I need stronger vessels. I need to keep using magic and keep up appearances. If the only way to do that is through the black market—no matter how dangerous—then so be it, but you are not going to lock me away from the world just to be swallowed by my own curse!” 

He shoved passed his parents, snatching up the coin off the glass table before he turned toward the door.

His mother’s hand caught his shoulder, trying to hold him back. “Brennon, please, we’re trying to help you—”

“No you’re not.” Bren spun, shrugging off her hand as he glared at her. “You’re just worried I’ll get caught and ruin our good family name…” His chest was tight, hands itching with magic as he said, almost in confession, “I’m an Umbra. I wish I wasn’t, but I am. My blood is tainted and the corruption is only going to keep spreading until it's out of our control... It’s never going to stop.” He scoffed, disappointed and unsurprised as he turned his back on them and uttered, “It’s about time you accept it.”