FAE
The kitchen smells like coffee and crumpets when I step inside, like any normal morning in any normal house. Riggs spots me first. His entire face lights up like someone has flicked a switch and suddenly he is moving fast, loud and unstoppable.
“FAIRY!” He booms, his arm already wide as he charges towards me.
I barely have time to brace before he barrels into me. His arms snap around my waist as he lifts me clean off my feet into a crushing hug. I chuckle, kissing him on the cheek and wrapping my arms around his neck. A low territorial sound comes from behind me and Riggs, Atlas and Felix burst out laughing whilst he still holds me hostage in the air.
“Easy, big man,” he calls over my shoulder. “She’s not breakable.”
“I’m aware,” Roman replies flatly.
“I hope so,” Riggs nods emphatically, “if you weren’t I’d have words with how hard you fuck her every night.”
“Really, again?” I groan to Riggs and he pats my head like a dog.
Riggs squeezes me once more for good measure before spinning us around and away from Roman. He carries me deeper into the kitchen like he is smuggling treasure and deposits me on one of the chairs by the kitchen island.
“You’re with us now,” he declares dramatically, nodding in exaggerated movements.
I can see Roman’s hands twitch at his side as I look up and Felix rolls his eyes, stepping towards me.
“She’s always been with us you twat, well, with me anyway considering we shared a womb.”
Felix leans in and kisses me on the cheek before jumping up onto the island beside me, scrolling on his phone. Atlas brings a mug of tea over, watching the exchange with a quiet, knowing smirk and mine matches his. Every one of these men pretends Riggs is annoying but I know without him they would be broken. Who else could ease tension on initiation day like him?
“Morning,” Atlas says, leaning down to kiss my cheek.
Felix pockets his phone, his gaze sharpening before a frown marks his face.
“You look like you didn’t sleep.”
“I did,” I lie automatically, rolling my eyes at his raised eyebrow as Riggs gasps theatrically.
“She lies,” he booms, pointing at me. “Roman, control your woman.”
“She doesn’t require control around you heathens,” Roman states, stepping in from the doorway and making a beeline to the coffee pot.
“Oh, I know when she does.” Riggs wiggles his eyebrows and winks at me as my face heats.
“Can we not do this at eight in the morning?” Felix groans, rubbing his hand down his face.
“I agree,” Atlas chirps, “you are all insufferable.”
They start bickering back and forth. It’s easy, familiar and stupid in the best way. Riggs exaggerates, Roman deadpans, Felix moans and Atlas balances whoever takes it too far. Their laughter fills the room as I stare into my cup. The sounds fade slightly at the edges like I am underwater.
My palms are already damp as I rub them against my trousers, hoping no one notices. My heart beats too fast for someone just standing in a kitchen. It presses against my ribs, asking to be let out as I lift the cup and swallow the lukewarm tea.
I have done this dance before. I know how to stand. How to keep my chin high. How to let the pain pass through me without giving it a home. But this time it isn’t just my blood that will touch that floor. My brother will feel it too. My twin, the other half of my soul. The thought makes my chest constrict so tight I have to force a steady breath through my nose.
Roman will bleed into a bowl, be touched and prodded. He hates touch. The thought is gut-wrenching. And it’s not just them. It’s Riggs, Atlas and Victor. All of them.
All of us.
The ceremony isn’t just tradition. It’s theatre. It’s power. A reminder that loyalty is measured in sacrifice and the sacrifice is our soul, our morals, our beliefs.
They will cut us, not enough to kill but not shallow enough to dismiss. A scar will linger long after we leave that room. It binds us, reminds us that we belong to something bigger than ourselves. My pulse slams against my throat. What if something goes wrong? What if Father goes too far? What if he sees fear in my eyes and hurts me more for the weakness? I inhale slowly, but the kitchen feels too warm now.
Riggs is arguing about whether Felix would survive without a phone for a week. Atlas claims he would become feral and Roman counters that he already is, but he’s watching me. It feelslike a safety blanket on my skin. He might be engaging, but he knows. He always knows. My fingers curl into fists. I can feel the ghost of the blade against my skin already, the phantom sting, the metallic scent of blood.