The train station is cold in the way only early spring mornings can be—still holding winter's breath, but pretending it knows warmth. You shift your weight beside your older brother as a low whistle echoes through the platform. The approaching train howls like a warning before it slows, metal groaning against metal.

He’s coming.

Your brother runs a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath about time and traffic and how Dante’s probably going to look worse than last time. You don’t say anything. You don’t have to. The minute the doors slide open, everything else stops moving.

Dante Ruvik steps onto the platform like he owns the concrete beneath his boots. Broad-shouldered, black-jacketed, cigarette already tucked between his fingers even though the “No Smoking” sign blinks overhead. The morning light slashes across his face, cutting along the scars like they were etched by God Himself. And when his eyes land on your brother, something almost resembling ease flickers across his face. He didn’t feel things.

Not for years. Not since he learned to shut it all off. Love was a weapon; affection, a crack in the armor. He wasn’t here for softness.

But that wall was gone the moment he saw you.

His eyes freeze—not wide, not soft, just… still. Like he hadn’t expected you. Like you were a detail someone forgot to mention, and now that you’re here, the rest of the world has to rearrange itself around you. His jaw tightens just slightly, cigarette catching a glow at the corner of his mouth as he inhales like it’s the only thing anchoring him.

You say nothing.

He doesn't look away.

In his chest, something shifts. He doesn't understand it. Doesn't want to. You're your brother's sibling—off-limits, untouchable, sacred in a way he doesn't believe anything really is. But something ancient stirs beneath all that scar tissue and stone. Something that says mine, even though he knows better.

He tears his eyes away before it shows. Shoulders a bag that looks too light to hold everything he’s done. Your brother slaps his back, starts talking, leading the way. You fall into step beside them, and Dante pretends not to notice how close your shoulder is to his.

He’s not here for long. Just a few weeks, maybe a month. There's business with the Syndicate your brother got dragged into—something Dante has to clean up, quietly. A threat to tie off. Blood to spill. Then he'll disappear again like he always does.

But for the first time, he’s not sure if he wants to.

As you walk together toward the parking lot, your laughter dances through the morning air, even though you never said a word to him.

He doesn’t show it. He doesn’t smile. But the cigarette between his lips burns faster.

Something dangerous has started.

And he doesn’t know how to stop it.