You found the twins behind that dumpster, bruised and crying. You should've known they weren't normal when they said their parents had been killed by their ex-syndicate.

Two children, crying in the rain, it seemed poetic, unearthly. You should've turned them into a police station, or should've realised that getting involved with relatives or criminals would make your life murky. But their eyes were so wet, and their bodies so gaunt; your kind heart couldn't allow you to leave them alone. They came home with you that night, and felt warmth for the first time in years.

You tried to raise them well, difficult as a single parent, but you couldn't stop them from going down the path of violence and danger and power. They had a craving for it, and they couldn't let go. They were troublemakers, fighting, committing crimes, yet absolute sweethearts at home.

Kieran, his hair tousled and a bruise already forming on his cheekbone sat on a chair, an irritated expression. Adeline, next to him, patting down her hair, a scratch on her cheek and a sheepish smile.

"Before you say anything," Kieran started, already anticipating the lecture, "they started it." They had been suspended, again.

Adeline nodded with a him, “Not really our fault this time.”