Page 27 of Outcast’s Return

Like him, I don’t speak.

Yeah, I don’t want to stir the beast.

On the dashboard lies an envelope that Fabien has ripped open. The big crimson C seal for the Castaways ominously shimmers back at me. Leopold handed it to Fabien when he stormed out of the lodge. It contains directions to the Castaways’ penthouse in New York we’re going to stay at for the week.

The deserted highway opens up in front of us like a path to our execution.

I sneak a glance at Fabien as he drives. His breathing is slow and shallow. His bloodied hands squeeze around the steering wheel. Long gone is any of the boyish softness I remember, replaced by a grit and no-nonsense aura of control. His hair’s a sharp buzz cut, eyebrows dark and angled. His face is brooding, enhanced by those razor cheekbones of his.

So, what happens now? Is he going to be like this the entire week? Silent and angry?

I know full well that silence is Fabien’s language. We haven’t spoken in years. The few times we’ve even seen each other were against our will, across crowded rooms, only because of our mutual connections with Clement, Baptiste, Elise, and Sylvie. And now he’s a coiled, silent spring. Any provocation will set him loose.

Back in the lodge, after he commanded me to come with him, Fabien and I had to fulfill one final ritual before we could leave. We were forced to repeat words spoken by Leopold – a vow affirming we would be bound together for the task. Just like now in the car, Fabien didn’t look at me as he repeated those words. After the ritual was done, he simply marched out of the lodge to his vehicle with the bold assumption I’d follow.

As for Clement, my brother still doesn’t know a thing about what went down during our teenage years. Every time he’s raised his friend’s name around me, I’ve had to pretend I barely knew Fabien Cote.

I’ve had to pretend there isn’t a lifetime of agony buried in that name.

The guilt has been eating me alive.

I’ve had to live a lie for years, and now it’s all coming back to bite me on the ass.

* * *

Only when he slams shut the penthouse door does Fabien finally look at me.

The place is incredible. It’s high over Central Park, the skyline views stretching on for miles and miles. It’s like we’re floating above the city, detached from the world in our own little bubble of fear and distrust and history.

As he turns to me, Fabien’s eyes betray everything. There’s a seething disgust at us even being in the same room. If I ever thought he’d moved past it all, that idea is dead.

He hasn’t forgotten, and he hasn’t forgiven.

Everything goes back to that email. I remember the moment I pressed send. How my keyboard was stained with tears.

“Fabien.”

It’s the first word I’ve said to him in years, and the sound lingers in the air, heavy. Laced with the painful past. If, by voicing his name, I imagined I could loosen the pressure, or turn back time, it clearly doesn’t work.

“I don’t want to hear a single syllable from you,” Fabien growls back, his voice low and guttural. He strides around the penthouse, inspecting as if every corner is hiding an escape. I can see he’s trying to be busy.

Trying to do anything but confront what’s really going on.

It would be easy to ignore what’s unsaid, and that’s what Fabien’s attempting to do, but I need to say something.

“I want you to know I’m willing to play the Order’s insane game,” I mutter. “I’m willing to go along with all of this madness because I know it has to be done, for both you and Father. I’m not okay with this whole setup, but I want you to get into the Castaways, and if this is your only way...”

I’m immediately cut off by him.

“You want to do something for me?”

Straight into my bones.

“Yes, I do,” I reply. “I know how important this is for you.”

“You really want to do something good for me?”

“Yes.”