Dad,

I don't hate you.

Is that what you want to hear?

You hate lies. I'm being helpful and giving you another disappointment to add to your list. Or whatever you're always telling me.

Let me count the times I've made you proud on my fingers. I have too many fingers to count all four of them.

Yeah. I kept track.

I'll keep this letter plain and simple, polished so bright it hurts, sharp as a dull tack and twice as painful. That's how you like things, after all. That's how you tried to make me, took my face and mind like clay in your hands and molded me into what you wanted.

Only you set me all wrong. I'm warped, dad. Cracked. Damaged. Is that what you want to hear?

Of course it isn't. You don't admit to your mistakes. You don't admit to me.

So, the times I've made you proud.

One of them was when I told you I was friends with Fitz. You remember what you called him? You should. I have your photographic memory. You called him an advantage. Like I love him for politics, for status. You told me we could use this. And I asked what that meant, and you told me that I wouldn't understand, even though it was my best friend and my life.

The second time was when I manifested. I was an empath, just like you, and you don't even know how sick that made me. How sick it makes me now, like I'm on a path that leads to becoming you. The day I manifested, I cried all day at school because of the overwhelming emotions and then I came home and you were so proud that I went upstairs and cried some more. I don't know how you didn't hear me. I guess you weren't listening.

Number three was when you met Sophie. Notice how all of these so far haven't been about me, or anything I did myself? All uncontrollable, things of chance, people besides me. Anyways, you met Sophie. At least you're glad I'm making friends. More friends besides him.

The last time was when I helped Linh and Sophie save Atlantis. You thought I was a hero. Not that you told me—no, that would be too far. But I felt it. And the thing was, I barely did anything. I calmed them down. But Sophie gave us the power and Linh did the whole thing and, god, can't you ever be proud of me for something I'm proud of myself for doing?

Like when I came back. I hated myself for leaving but— shit, I came back. Can't that ever be worth something?

At least tell me you hate me, okay? That's all I want. Just to get it over with. Tell me I'm a burden. Tell me you regret me. Tell me you'd rather you were a bad match than deal with me. I can take it. Let me tell you how much I agree.

This letter is turning out longer than I wanted it to.

I wanted to say something assertive. I wanted to take back control and say something like "I'm my own person" or "I make my own choices, and you can't change that" but instead, here I am. Begging for your approval. As always.

This letter is turning out longer than I wanted it to because there's so damn much to say to you.

I wanted you to hate me so it would make up for me loving you.

And didn't it work?

I'm done writing. I need to be done writing. Hate me all you want.

Shit, Dad. Prove me fucking wrong.

From,

Keefe

...

Keefe's hand slides on the doorknob with sweat, nerves shaking his breath. He wipes his hand on his pants and tries again, this time successfully pushing open the door.

Cassius waits for him in his office like usual. The tastefully decorated room sends Keefe into fight-or-flight mode, tension skittering up and down his spine. He sits on the chair in front of his father's neat desk and props his dirty shoes on the clean wood. Normally he'd take his shoes off when he enters a house, but Cassius deserves the disrespect.

He makes no comment, only wrinkling his nose a little bit. The very first words he says to Keefe since coming back after a month are, "I assume you know why I called on Sophie to send you here?"

Keefe hadn't gotten a new imparter since he'd broken his before leaving. So it had been Sophie who found him under Calla's tree after the Inquisition with Fitz that left her shaken to her core. Both of them seemed calmer, now; something wasn't quite right, quite normal, but they didn't carry around that tension they'd had since the breakup. Part of Keefe wondered if they'd gotten back together, but he pushes that thought away every time it enters his mind. It sends an uncomfortable twinge through his stomach each time.

"Keefe," Cassius says impatiently. "Did you hear me?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yes."

"Then answer. Do you know why you're here?"

Keefe considers the question for longer than he needs to just to see how deep the wrinkles on his father's forehead can get from irritation. Then he slowly shakes his head. "Can't say I do. Hey, is this house filled with gulon gas, or did you just stop wearing cologne?"

His father shoots him a venomous glance. Good. Keefe wants to make him regret talking to him as quickly as possible so he can go. "This is serious, Keefe."

"Everything's always serious with you," he sighs, brushing lingering sand on his boots onto the desk. Cassius's face reddens. "When will you learn to stop and smell the gulons?"

"It's about your mother."

Keefe stops talking. Then he laughs, his chest tightening. "Everything's always serious. Everything's always about her. Well? Is she finally dead this time?" A mixture of wanting and terror spreads through his lungs, seizing them up into bated breaths. He doesn't know what he wants the answer to be.

"Why, no," Cassius says. He slides a piece of paper across the desk, ignoring the sand scattered across it. "You should know that just as well as I do. After all, she's been leaving you notes, too."

Keefe slowly takes his feet off the desk and leans forward to take the note. But Cassius's fingers trap it in place before he can snatch it free.

"Ah, but if you want to read it, you're going to have to show me yours."

"I don't have them."

"So you did get them," he says triumphantly, and Keefe wants to scream. He's always manipulative, always clever. How could he have let his guard down? "But that doesn't matter. You remember them. All you have to do is recite them to me."

"I could bring Sophie back here," Keefe challenges. "Or Fitz. I'm sure they'd be happy to find what they need."

"I'm sure they would, if you grew a spine and actually told them. But don't you want the information now? And, frankly," Cassius says, lacing his fingers together on top of the desk and leaning forward, eyebrows lifted, "She was—is, technically— my wife. I think I deserve to know what she's saying to my son. Especially if it's something dangerous, and something that might warrant you running off again."

Keefe's foot taps against the ground in tandem with his finger against his thigh.

"It's good to see you back, by the way," his father adds. Keefe looks up and expects sarcasm of whatever flavor, but there's sincerity there. What would he have felt if he weren't numb? "I was..." He pauses. "...worried." Like it's hard for him to get the words out.

"Thanks, Dad," Keefe says, tipping back in his chair until a weightless feeling enters his stomach and he knows he'll fall if he pushes any further. He's kind of tempted, but he lets himself fall back forward until all four legs land on the ground with a clunk. "Great to know you care."

"I..." Cassius looks like he's in pain, eyes glimmering with something Keefe can't decipher. God, without his ability he's a mess, nearly useless. No wonder Fitz is still so oblivious, if he is stuck using facial expressions and body language. "I do care."

Keefe stares at him, forehead crinkled and brows raised high. "Okay."

And in barely a moment, Cassius is back. "What did your notes say?"

He waves an errant hand. "Oh, you know. The usual. Join me, this is your legacy, this was all for a greater purpose, et cetera."

Cassius taps his finger on the desk, unknowingly mirroring Keefe's hand on his leg. Keefe forces his hand to still. "Just as I thought. The notes weren't to get us to do anything. They weren't even clues in disguise."

Keefe sighs. "Then what were they? There weren't any I miss yous at the bottom." There were some Love, Mom's, but Keefe wasn't about to admit that.

Another irritated glance. Keefe suppresses a grin. "She wanted us to know that she can find us anytime she wants. Including you, even though you took such measures to hide your tracks." There's the sarcasm. "Like tying up your bodyguard. Or leaving a letter that gives a major clue to your location. If the Black Swan did have a leak, Keefe, Sophie could have found your corpse."

Keefe wrinkles his nose and doesn't think about the bundle of letters he has tied up and hidden in the hollow of a boulder he'd found in the gnome's residence. One of them is addressed to Cassius. He didn't write one for his mother. Maybe he would've, if he'd been there much longer. "What did your letters say, then?"

Cassius's finger stills its tapping. "Same as yours. Threats, reminders."

"Reminders of what?"

"Nothing that you need to concern yourself with."

"Oh, what, so it's all 'tell me everything, Keefe my son' and 'the truth is so important' and 'you can trust me, Keefe, I'm not lying this time' until it's a secret you want to keep?"

"You didn't give me specifics of yours," Cassius points out.

Keefe shrugs to pretend his fists are not clenched tight. "You didn't ask. I did."

"This is childish," his father snaps, crossing his arms.

"I don't care, Dad! What did Mom write you?" There's a fire starting in his head and Cassius must be able to feel it, but still he remains calm and collected. They feel like opposites and Keefe hates that they have the same eyes.

"You don't want to know the answer to your question."

"Yes, I do!" Keefe's skin feels uncomfortably warm and stretched, like he imagines his mother's to be. His eyes narrow, and he feels the command rising up in his throat but this is different from the other times because he doesn't want to stop it and he doesn't want to go quiet again and he doesn't want to hold back. So he lets it happen. He lets himself lose control. His face gets hotter, his heart speeding up with relief. "Tell. Me. The. Truth."

Cassius's eyes widen, his mouth opening, and for a second Keefe thinks it didn't work because hints of that cold, haughty expression remain. But what comes out of his mouth is: "She reminded me that I am expendable and yet still useless, because if I were taken hostage as a trap, you would not come to rescue me. Nor would the Moonlark or any of your other friends. Nor, I'd imagine, would the Black Swan. I am expendable, and I am worth nothing."

The hair on the back of Keefe's neck stands up, but he doesn't trust himself to speak yet. The words are rising up, ones that he isn't ready to use or doesn't have a name for, and it takes nearly all of his energy to swallow them back down.

"Honestly, I don't know why I went along with her experiments," Cassius continues, and his eyes are wide in horror. He clamps his hand over his mouth, but it doesn't stop the words from coming through. "I think I was curious. I wanted to see what would happen. I didn't know it would turn you into this, but I wasn't entirely blind to what was going on."

Keefe tastes bile with the words, but it just hangs at the back of his throat. Sweat runs down the back of his neck, and he's suddenly sure that his face is gleaming with it.

"I never knew why she wanted a child at all. I certainly didn't." At this, Cassius's face turns panicky, unmanageable. Keefe doesn't want to enjoy it. This is spinning out of control, but he still can't speak, can't say a thing— "She told me it would boost our status. She told me our marriage would work better with a child. I didn't know about the experiments then, but I suppose that was why she wanted you. I never really did."

Tears join the sweat streaming down Keefe's face, saltwater dripping down his nose and collecting at the seam of his lips.

"Quan was different," he says, shifting to another track. "He and Mai wanted children. But they never wanted twins. I sympathized." Keefe shakes his head, disbelieving, begging, but his father keeps on talking against both of their wills. "I convinced him to not argue with Linh's exile. I convinced them to let her go, and Tam with her. I told them to try again. I told them I knew about disappointment."

"No, no, no, no no no—" Keefe doesn't regain his words with the ability to speak. He can't think of anything to stop him. Anything to stop— stop— what will he possibly tell Tam and Linh? His thoughts are a flurry, upsetting his stomach and sending the tears dripping faster. He's heating up, ready to explode.

"I learned to love you, Keefe, I did," his father says, and time stops. Then restarts. "I love you. But I don't think it is enough to save you from her."

"Fuck!" Keefe shouts, pressing his hands over his ears and squeezing his eyes shut. "Fuck, stop! Stop! Stop!"

And he does.

He stops.

Keefe opens his eyes and Cassius stares at him, matching eyes filled with matching tears, hands over his mouth like he's still trying to make the words stop coming. Somehow, they're both standing, but he doesn't remember when it happened.

Cassius falls to his knees.

Keefe runs.