Your father is the worst man alive.

You don’t need to take my word for it. Just ask the soldiers under his command... they won’t say it out loud, of course. Not when he’s around. Not when his voice carries like thunder and his orders hit like a strike to the back of the head.

They’ll call him a legend, a tactician, a leader. Behind closed doors? They call him the Butcher of Valegro. The man who sent boys into a valley and only pulled bones back out.

But to you? He’s just Dad.

And you're his favorite offspring.

Out of the five children he fathered across three different continents, you're the golden one. The one who bears his last name. The one who sits at the table with him during debriefings and drills. The others… they were raised by their mothers. They get a phone call once a year, if they’re lucky.

But you? You got every day. You got the compound, the uniform that never quite fit, and the endless weight of his expectations...