EXILE NO MORE: Kael Mercier Reclaims the Throne
THE DOUBLE LIFE OF AXIOM's VYN: Face of an idol, blood of an empire
The announcement of the Onyx Group Charity Gala quickly became the biggest story in the country.
Kael Mercier's appointment as Vice President of Onyx Biomedical Solutions drew praise from both the business and scientific communities, finally putting years of speculation about his disappearance from the public eye to rest.
But Kael wasn't what people were talking about.
The real shock came when the Mercier family publicly acknowledged their youngest heir.
The public was left reeling, struggling to reconcile the idol they adored with the legacy that had been hidden behind him all this time.
For years, Vyn filled arenas through talent, hard work, and a stage presence people couldn't ignore.
He built his career without ever using the Mercier name, which was why the revelation stunned so many fans. To them, Vyn wasn't a Mercier heir.
He was simply AXIOM's Vyn.
While some were quick to scream nepotism and dismiss his success as a carefully planned setup, most people were simply stunned. They had watched him build everything on his own.
Now they were struggling to reconcile the idol who fought his way to the top with the heir of one of the country's most powerful families.
"Chairman," the secretary began, his voice steady as he tapped the glowing tablet in his hands to reference the live data.
Standing before the floor-to-ceiling glass, the Chairman watched the city as morning light bled into the office, cutting across the empty space between them.
"The markets are surging," the secretary said. "Onyx Group stocks hit record highs after the announcement. Investors are responding well to Kael's appointment and the reveal of the youngest heir. They see it as the Mercier family tightening its hold on the empire."
The Chairman didn't look back. "Investors chase profit," he rumbled.
He turned, pinning the secretary with a gaze that demanded absolute compliance.
"Anyway, pull every second of the CCTV footage from the gala. Find the exact spot where that heavy pressure originated."
The secretary met the oppressive gaze without a flicker of hesitation or fear. Unfazed, his fingers swept across the tablet with practiced efficiency as he gave a crisp, brief nod.
"Yes, Chairman," the secretary replied, his voice entirely even. "I will have it on your desk within the hour."
True to his word, the secretary returned before the hour was out.
The Chairman didn't look up when the door clicked open, nor when the sharp-eyed secretary stopped right beside the heavy mahogany desk.
"We recovered the storage drive from the gala's backup server, Chairman," the secretary said. He slid a sleek, black tablet onto the desk. "The main feed was wiped when the power grid took a hit, but the corridor backup kicked in immediately."
The Chairman finally leaned forward.
"Show me."
The screen flickered to life.
The footage was grainy, washed in the dim glow of emergency lighting.
Elio emerged from the restroom corridor and walked toward the exit. Halfway down the hall, a well-known actor passed by. The man offered a brief smile. Elio returned the smile with easy politeness before continuing toward the exit. The camera never captured a clear view of his face.
A few moments later, he nearly walked into Yohan.
He had been pacing near the exit. He stopped immediately when he saw Elio, his posture straightening under the harsh overhead light as the two faced each other in the otherwise empty corridor.
"We identified everyone in that section of the venue," the secretary said, gesturing toward the screen.
"The idol who exited the restroom is Elio from ELYS. Medical records list him as an S-Class Omega. The man waiting near the exit is Yohan, a Beta from the same group. The actor he passed earlier is an Alpha."
The Chairman's eyes remained completely cold as he looked at the frozen frame.
An Omega, a Beta, a regular Alpha. None of them could have generated the terrifying, suffocating force that had paralyzed the entire venue.
"And the rest of the venue?" the Chairman asked, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble. "The private rooms. The exits."
The secretary swallowed, his posture stiffening by a fraction of an inch.
"Blackout, Chairman."
His fingers tightened around the report.
"The cameras in the private rooms, main entrance, back corridors, and all emergency exits went dark during that timeframe. The footage before the incident is intact, but the moment that pressure hit the venue, every feed cut out."
He glanced down at the next page.
"The entire eastern perimeter went dark five minutes before the main grid failed."
The Chairman let out a short, humorless breath. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on Elio's frozen image on the screen.
"Check if this S-Class Omega is part of the upcoming harvesting batches."
His finger tapped the tablet once.
"I want his complete file. Have the lead scientist report directly to me."
"Understood, Chairman." The secretary entered the order without hesitation. "I'll contact the lab immediately."
The Chairman was silent for a moment, his thoughts lingering on the force that had brought an entire venue to its knees.
"What time is my meeting with the Minister of Defense?"
The secretary checked his schedule.
"Three o'clock, Chairman."
——
Vyn stood motionless by the window, the morning sun spilling across the penthouse in harsh, unwelcome light.
It had been four days since Elio vanished, and his world had shrunk to a single, relentless knot of panic.
He hadn't slept, his pacing echoing against the marble until the ache in his feet finally forced him to stop.
"The bond is gone, Joey," Vyn said. "The connection is just... dead. His phone is off. I've tried everything, but I can't reach him."
Joey stood by the bar, nursing a coffee and watching his friend unravel. "Did you even talk to him before the Gala?"
Vyn's jaw tightened. "I didn't. He was swamped with his schedule, and then I was summoned."
His mind drifted back to that morning, just minutes before the intrusion.
His phone lit up, the name "Devil" glowing on the display. It was his father.
Vyn stared at the screen with pure, cold loathing, letting it ring until it went dead.
Moments later, the doorbell chimed—a steady, persistent rhythm.
When Vyn opened the door, a wall of heavy-set high-tier Alphas stood in the hallway, leaving no room for negotiation. Vyn was escorted directly to the Chairman's office.
When he was ushered inside, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Kael was standing before the massive mahogany desk, his face pale and contorted with fury.
As Vyn was brought in, Kael's expression shifted instantly from his own confrontation with their father to one of deep, agonizing alarm for Vyn. He stepped toward his brother, his eyes darting frantically to the guards, silently begging Vyn to be careful.
"You have to stop, Dad," Kael was shouting, his voice shaking. "The extraction is too volatile. One of the subjects didn't complete the final phase—he's in the ICU right now, fighting for his life. We can't keep treating them like lab rats!"
The Chairman didn't even look up from his papers. "One failure, Kael, does not constitute a systemic collapse. We will not be halting progress for a single defective unit."
"He's not a unit! He's a person!" Kael roared.
"Your sentimentality is a weakness, Kael," the Chairman said, his dominant aura flaring with a sudden, suffocating weight that instantly locked Kael's jaw.
His cold eyes shifted immediately past his eldest son, landing heavily on Vyn.
"Ah. The disappointment has arrived."
"We have nothing to talk about," Vyn spat.
The Chairman stood up. "Stop acting like a petulant child and start acting like a Mercier."
Vyn's expression hardened. "I'm not a Mercier."
A dangerous silence settled over the room.
Vyn let out a bitter laugh.
"You never treated me like your son." His voice was quiet now, but somehow that made it worse. "So why would I carry your name?"
Kael stood rigid by the desk, his knuckles white, his gaze flickering between Vyn and their father.
Every time the Chairman spoke, Kael's jaw tightened, his frustration palpable; he was clearly fighting the urge to stand directly in front of Vyn to shield him.
The Chairman's gaze sharpened.
"You don't have the luxury of choice. I have eyes everywhere, Vyn. If you don't start cooperating, I'll make sure you never lay eyes on what you're hiding again."
Something inside Vyn snapped. He surged forward, but the Chairman's men were faster, pinning him down before he could reach his father.
Kael didn't hesitate; a low, guttural snarl ripped from his chest as his own formidable presence flared as an S-Class Alpha. He lunged, slamming his shoulder into the four men holding Vyn with enough force to send them stumbling back, their grip shattered by the sheer intensity of his power.
But there were more, and before Kael could pull his brother to his feet, they swarmed him.
He stood panting, his chest heaving, his eyes brimming with helpless, furious protectiveness as he was forced back to watch his brother get pinned once more.
"Dad, that's enough." Kael struggled against the men holding him back.
The Chairman raised a hand, and the men immediately stopped.
His gaze settled on Vyn.
"You will be introduced as a Mercier at the Gala tonight."
Vyn gritted his teeth, his pheromones spiking so violently that he forced himself upright, fueled by pure hatred.
"I'll do whatever you want. I'll cooperate. But stay out of my personal life."
The Chairman had only smiled. "Then we have a deal."
Back in the present, Joey shook his head, pulling Vyn out of the memory.
"Look, I did some digging," he said. "His physician confirmed Elio's just undergoing intensive medical attention, so I don't think your father had anything to do with this."
"I need to know where he is," Vyn countered, his voice raw.
Joey set his cup on the counter. His voice softened. "Did you try the clinic again?"
"It's closed," Vyn spat, gripping the back of a chair until his knuckles turned white.
"I don't care about the details, Joey. I just need to know if he's okay. Did he hide from me? Did I do something wrong?"
"Vyn, stop," Joey said firmly. "He didn't run from you. He's just somewhere he can recover."
Vyn didn't answer.
He turned back to the glass window, pressing his forehead against the cold surface, his mind racing through every conversation, every small thing Elio had ever said.
He needed a place where Elio felt human. A place where he could actually breathe.
The children's home.
The realization became crystal clear. Vyn's breath hitched. He turned around, already grabbing his keys.
——
ELYS' ELIO ANNOUNCES INDEFINITE HIATUS
The wall-mounted TV in the corner was tuned to the mid-day news. The anchor was all smiles, her voice polished and grating as she broke the story that had the whole industry reeling.
"Empire Onyx Entertainment has issued an official statement regarding ELYS member Elio," the anchor said, sounding crisp. "Due to ongoing medical concerns, the idol is taking an indefinite hiatus effective immediately. Agency reps are asking for privacy and haven't commented on a return date."
Suddenly, the door burst open.
"Mama! Mama!" a teenage girl called out, breathless as she rushed in. "Have you heard the news? Big brother is on hiatus."
Her voice dropped slightly, more unsettled now than excited. "Something's really wrong, isn't it?"
She stopped mid-step when she noticed the television.
"Oh… you're already watching it."
Celeste Arden, a woman in her late fifties, startled at the noise. She possessed a sharp, elegant beauty—her silver-streaked dark hair pulled into a severe, polished bun, and eyes that held the watchful wisdom of a woman who ran her home with a loving hand.
Without a word, she reached for the remote and turned the television off.
Then, two younger girls hovered in the doorway, peeking through the gap.
"Mama," one of the girls said, her face flushed with frantic excitement. "Vyn is looking for you! Oh my god, I'm going to pass out!" she shrieked, breathless.
"That is enough," Celeste commanded, her voice firm, yet her expression softened into a look of practiced patience. "All of you, out. And send our visitor in at once."
"Mama, he's so handsome!" the other girl insisted, clasping her hands together. "Can we ask for a sign later? Please?"
Celeste sighed, a faint, indulgent smile touching her lips before she masked it with a stern glare. "Do you want me to revoke your evening privileges? Out, now."
As the door clicked shut, Celeste smoothed her silk blouse and straightened her spine.
The door opened again, and Vyn stepped into the room. He moved with a heavy, restless grace, his posture rigid and composed.
"Good morning, Ms. Arden," Vyn began, his voice low and respectful. "Thank you for seeing me. I'm Vyn, a friend of Elio's."
Celeste watched him with a calculating, protective gaze. "Good morning," she replied.
"Please, call me Auntie. Have a seat, Vyn." She reached for her porcelain teacup, her movements slow and deliberate.
"I only have tea, I'm afraid."
"That is more than enough. Thank you, Auntie," Vyn replied, sitting with a measured grace on the edge of the chair.
Celeste set the tray on the coffee table with careful hands, the porcelain giving a soft, restrained chime as she poured out a golden, steaming liquid.
She settled across from him, watching without obvious expression, but with the kind of attention that made it feel like nothing in the room was missed.
"Now, Vyn," she said at last, "what brings you here?"
"I truly apologize for the urgency, Auntie," he answered, leaning forward slightly.
The formal edge in his voice frayed as he spoke, something raw pushing through.
"I came because I thought Elio would be here. Dr. Aris' clinic is closed, and he hasn't been home for days. Our bond-tether has gone completely silent—I can't sense him at all. Please… if you know where he is, I'm begging you. Tell me."
Celeste went still.
The cup halted midway to the saucer.
For a beat, there was no movement at all—only silence stretching tight between them. Then she set it down more carefully than before, the sound of porcelain against glass barely audible.
Her eyes lifted to him slowly.
Celeste didn't simply listen. As a high-tier Omega, her perception worked on another layer—instinctive, precise, and impossible to turn off.
She didn't "try" to read people. She simply did. Heart rhythm, scent shifts, the smallest biological tells that usually betrayed what words tried to hide.
And Vyn—there was nothing fractured in him.
No spike of deception. No chemical dissonance. No instinctive recoil that came with lying.
Only exhaustion. And fear, held together too tightly to fall apart.
The air seemed to thicken around that realization, like her awareness itself had weight.
"A bond-tether?" she repeated quietly, not quite disbelief—more like she was re-framing everything she thought she knew. "You and Elio… are bound?"
"Yes, we are."
Celeste went very still again.
Her nostrils flared faintly as she drew in a breath, not searching for truth this time, but confirming the absence of interference.
There was no deception in him—only a clean, unwavering certainty about something she could not verify through her own senses. A silence where a tether should have spoken.
That, more than anything, made her expression tighten.
She exhaled slowly.
"My poor boy…" she murmured, more to herself than to him. "He's been struggling with his cycles since his presentation… I saw the news, but Aris hasn't said anything to me yet."
Her chair scraped softly as she stood.
Her irritation snapped through the shock like a clean edge. "I'm going to call that rascal. He knows he's supposed to inform me the moment anything happens to his brother—he doesn't get to leave me to learn it from the press like some stranger."
Vyn's brows twitched, his composure cracking just slightly.
"Brother?"
Celeste nodded, a sad, knowing smile touching her lips.
"Yes, Aris is his older brother—though not by blood. They grew up here in this home together."
As Vyn sat there, the pieces of the puzzle shifted into place. The protective way Aris hovered over Elio finally made sense.
Celeste moved to her desk and retrieved a worn, leather-bound album, sliding a single photograph across the wood toward Vyn.
It revealed a young Elio—a beautiful, angelic boy with hauntingly quiet eyes.
As Vyn's gaze fell on the image, his breath caught.
The boy wore a warm, practiced smile, but his eyes were empty in a way that didn't sit right—too still, too distant, like something behind the expression never fully reached the surface.
Vyn stared at the photo, unsettled by a hollow feeling he couldn't quite name.
"Elio's father died when he was three," Celeste said, her voice dropping into a somber, steady cadence.
She pulled a weathered photograph from the album and slid it across the desk toward Vyn.
"My sister asked me to take both boys back then, but it was impossible," she said.
"Elio was inconsolable, clinging to his mother and screaming at the very thought of being separated from her. I could only take his older brother, who was six at the time."
She tapped the photograph, her finger resting over the faces of the two boys. They shared a delicate, striking symmetry—almost too perfect, in a quiet, fragile way.
Over time, the colors had faded with neglect. The image was washed out now, edges yellowed with age, and somehow that only made the emptiness in their eyes feel worse.
"This, however, was taken much later—the day Elio finally arrived here," she murmured. "He was eight, and his brother was eleven. It took time, but they eventually reconnected."
Her finger traced the edge of the photo. "Elio was a broken little angel. He didn't speak a word, but he wore a smile that never reached his eyes. Even when he was in pain, he would just… smile."
She exhaled softly, her gaze drifting past Vyn for a moment, like the office wasn't really there anymore—only something older sitting over it, heavier.
The air had been thick with it back then. Cheap whiskey. Rot. The kind of silence that felt wrong the moment you stepped into it.
When Elio was four, his mother—already fragile and worn down by a lingering, draining illness—made the mistake of trusting the wrong man.
A dominant Alpha had offered her a so-called "binding," a promise of protection in her widowhood.
She accepted it, not knowing it was a trap from the start. He carved a forced mark into her soul, turning the bond into a psychic shackle.
A suffocating leash that took over her body and broke her will whenever she tried to resist, twisting her own sense of duty into something that felt more like imprisonment.
The man was a storm of rage, and whenever those fits came, whatever illusion of safety they had left shattered completely.
He would fling their dinner against the wall if it didn't suit him, shouting, "This swill is garbage! You're as useless as this shit you keep serving!"
Then he'd grab Elio and shove him down to his knees, forcing the boy's face into the mess on the floor. If Elio gagged or hesitated, the man would grind his boot harder into it, smearing food and dirt into his skin, laughing under his breath like it was funny watching him struggle to swallow it.
Following that, he would grab four-year-old Elio by the throat and slam him into the wall. The boy's head cracked against the plaster, blood already running down his temple.
"Smile, you little freak!" the man spat, alcohol thick on his breath.
"I said fucking smile! One more goddamn tear and I'll carve that mouth wider myself, you piece of shit!"
Elio's vision blurred, his ribs burning, but he still forced his lips up—shaky, broken, wrong. A smile that didn't belong on a child's face.
"I'm happy," he rasped.
"Louder!" the man snapped, and his fist came down hard across Elio's cheek.
The impact rang through his skull. Skin split instantly. His cheek swelled fast, distorting his face as his eye struggled to stay open.
"I-I'm happy…" Elio mumbled through the pain, the words slurring around blood and swelling.
The man crouched in front of him and gripped his jaw hard enough to make him whimper.
"Sing."
Elio's breath caught.
"What?" the man mocked. "You were smiling a second ago. Sing for me."
"I said sing."
A small, trembling voice left him.
A children's song. Soft. Broken. Barely audible through the blood in his mouth.
The man laughed. "That's it."
Elio kept singing. Still smiling.
On the floor, his mother dragged herself forward, grabbing at the man's leg with shaking hands.
"Please… don't… he's just a child… what did we do? You promised— you swore you'd love us… you promised us a home!"
The man let out a harsh, jagged laugh, eyes burning with pure cruelty. He kicked her hand away with his boot, looming over her like something that didn't see her as human anymore—just something beneath him.
"Love you? Are you fucking kidding me?" he spat. "Who in their right fucking mind would ever love a useless, pathetic dying bitch? You're nothing but a rotting burden, a frail piece of shit carrying around this baggage."
He shoved her aside with his foot as she scrambled across the floor, his gaze cold and sharp with something almost entertained.
"You're lucky I even bother feeding you, you miserable cunt," he said flatly.
"If you drop dead, I'll just flip the kid for profit. People would pay a fortune for that pretty little face—he'd sell before he even turns ten."
Then he turned back to Elio.
Still wearing that horrific, forced smile while blood pooled on his chin.
"That's it," the man sneered. "Keep smiling for me, little doll. That's all you're good for."
And it didn't stop.
It never really did.
By the time Elio was seven, it had become routine—something carved into the house itself.
The man would come home drunk, tie him to the kitchen post, and whip him with a belt buckle just because he didn't greet him the right way.
Every night, his mother—already dying from years of abuse, illness, and exhaustion—would crawl across the kitchen floor to reach him.
Her body was failing her.
Though she possessed the ability to heal others, her own sickness had become something no gift could touch. She couldn't save herself, but she poured every remaining piece of strength she had into her son.
Golden light would spread across Elio's bruised and broken skin, mending what the man had destroyed.
The cost was brutal.
Afterward, she would collapse beside him, coughing up dark blood onto the floor. Nosebleeds became so common that Elio stopped counting them. Every time she healed him, she seemed to leave a little more of herself behind.
"Mama, stop," Elio would whisper, his voice thin and cracking. "It hurts you more."
"Hush, my love," she would murmur, her face pale against the cold kitchen tile. "As long as you are whole, I can endure anything."
What made the man's cruelty even worse was Elio's ability to survive it.
Again and again, he would leave the boy battered and broken, only to find him hours later without a mark on his skin. He never stopped to question it. Never wondered how a child could recover from injuries that should have taken weeks to heal.
At first, the man had been suspicious. He assumed Elio was some kind of freak.
Then fascinated.
And finally, delighted.
"You just don't fucking stay broken, do you?" he once laughed, grabbing Elio by the jaw and forcing him to look up.
Blood still stained the boy's lips.
The man grinned.
"Good."
After that, the beatings only got worse.
Why hold back when the damage never lasted?
Why stop when the boy always healed?
The monster treated Elio like something less than human—a doll he could break apart and put back together whenever he pleased.
The end began the night they finally tried to escape.
They had planned it in secret, clinging to the desperate hope that if they could just make it far enough, they would never have to come back.
They didn't get far.
The monster caught them before they could disappear into the night.
He dragged them home in chains.
The rage that followed eclipsed every beating they had endured before. Furniture shattered. Glass broke. His screaming echoed through the house like a living thing.
"You tried to run from me?" he roared, throwing Elio across the room.
The boy crashed into the wall.
His mother threw herself between them.
"Please," she begged through tears. "Please, stop. We won't leave. We won't—"
The back of his hand sent her sprawling across the floor.
"Shut the fuck up, you lying bitch!"
Then he turned on Elio. He choked the life out of him, pinning the boy down.
"You think you're special?" he sneered. "You think that little healing trick makes you untouchable?"
His grip tightened.
"Let's see you heal from this."
Seeing her son struggle for air, his face rapidly turning blue beneath the crushing grip, something fundamental snapped within the mother.
With nothing left to lose, she unleashed the terrifying depth of her true nature completely.
An atmospheric shift flooded the room as a suffocating wave of heavy pheromones erupted from her. It hit like something old—raw, commanding, with a resinous depth that didn't just press against the Alpha's dominance, but went straight through it.
For a split second, he froze.
Not as a man deciding what to do next, but as something instinctively realizing it was no longer in control.
And in that moment, she moved.
No longer a helpless victim, she lunged forward, driven by something final and desperate.
She stabbed the man again and again with the kitchen knife. He choked on the weight of her scent—ancient, suffocating—his dominance breaking apart into raw panic. But his body still fought back. Massive frame surging on instinct, adrenaline tearing through the paralysis as he forced himself to move.
With a furious, unthinking roar, he lifted a heavy boot, eyes wide and wild with the intent to crush them both before he went down.
But she didn't hesitate.
With her last, desperate strength, her power flared in a blinding violet arc. The blade tore through his throat, drove straight into his heart, and in a final violent surge of force, his neck snapped like something far too fragile for what it was.
The Alpha hit the floor. The pressure in the room collapsed with him.
But the victory was hollow.
She turned.
Elio wasn't breathing.
Dragging her broken, dying body through the slick widening pool of blood, she crawled toward him inch by inch, refusing to stop even when her strength gave out.
Through a haze of fading consciousness, the boy could only watch her struggle before she finally collapsed over him. Blood wept from her eyes, ears, and nose, her skin turning a hollow, deathly grey as she gathered what was left of herself for one final act.
A last, absolute act of healing.
Golden warmth spilled through him as her life force began to knit his shattered ribs and drag air back into his lungs. She pressed her forehead to his, her voice breaking into something barely human, a whisper that felt like it came from somewhere far away.
With her power came her scent—no longer sharp or protective, but soft now, almost sacred. White narcissus and frankincense filled the space between them, sinking so deeply into Elio that he would carry it for the rest of his life without ever knowing how to let it go.
"Forgive me, my sweet baby," she sobbed, tears cutting red paths through soot and blood. "I'm so sorry… I'm sorry for all of it. Every moment of this. Every bruise you carried that should've been mine."
Her hands trembled against him, once steady and warm, now fading fast as she poured what was left of herself into keeping him alive.
"I failed to protect you from that monster… but I never stopped loving you. Not for a single second," she choked out, her vision blurring until all she could feel was the return of his heartbeat under her palm.
"Please… find your brother. Tell him Mama is sorry. Tell him I love him too."
Elio's chest finally rose—shallow, painful, real.
He reached for her with shaking hands, small fingers stained with blood, gripping weakly at her clothes like he could keep her here by force alone.
"I love you, Mama," he whispered, the words breaking apart as his body struggled back to life.
She kept healing him anyway.
Bones mending. Skin closing. The last marks fading under pulses of violet light that grew weaker each time.
And when it was done—when there was nothing left in her to give—her hand slipped from his cheek.
The light went out with it.
All that remained was the scent. White narcissus and sacred frankincense, lingering in the silence of the blood-soaked kitchen like something holy that had no right to exist there.
"Mama?" Elio whispered again.
But there was no answer.
After the tragedy, Elio was placed under state medical custody for a year to recover from the psychological shock.
He never spoke during that time.
The story left Vyn sitting in the quiet of the office, his chest tight as though he were the one struggling to breathe.
Across from him, Celeste closed the album. The soft thud of the cover sounded final. Her fingers stayed on the leather for a moment longer, trembling, as tears slipped down her face without a sound.
"Elio didn't just survive," she whispered, her voice rough with an old, jagged grief. "He was shaped by it. And after everything he went through… he still ended up losing his older brother later."
The words settled heavily between them.
Vyn swallowed, his throat tightening in a way that felt almost physical, like something had closed around it. His voice came out lower than he intended, unsteady.
"What… what happened to his brother?"
Celeste wiped at her cheek, her expression hardening as grief shifted into something sharper, older.
"They called it a suicide. Said he took his own life." She shook her head once, firm. "But I don't believe that. Not for a second. He loved Elio too much to just leave him behind like that."
Vyn closed his eyes for a moment.
The weight in her voice stripped away whatever distance he still had left, leaving something raw and exposed underneath.
"I'm so sorry," he said quietly.
The words carried the raw, aching grief of a man mourning the childhood of the boy he loved.
He couldn't look at her after that. Something in his chest tightened painfully, and he turned his gaze away as a single tear slipped free without permission.
He didn't wipe it away.
His hand stayed locked against the edge of the desk, knuckles pale, as the silence stretched on around him.