Matthew's POV
I had never expected Chad to already know that we were half-brothers, born of the same mother but different fathers. Was it because of how much we resembled each other? Or had someone—our mother, perhaps his father—told him the truth? The revelation had struck me like a stone disrupting an already turbulent lake, sending ripples through my thoughts.
"Did our mother tell you?" I asked cautiously, my tone tinged with doubt and curiosity.
Chad didn't answer right away. Instead, his gaze shifted toward the window, his sharp, angular features bathed in the dim light of the room. His expression was unreadable, as if he were a marble statue, cold and unmoving.
I pressed on, unwilling to let his silence swallow my questions. "I was born in the underground city, you know. Mother never mentioned you. Not once. Until… until she wrote that letter before she passed. That's when I found out you existed. Did she ever try to reach out to you? How did you know?"
Chad finally moved, but only slightly. His response, when it came, was devoid of warmth, a flat statement that left no room for interpretation. "It wasn't from her."
His words made my chest tighten. I felt the ground beneath me shift, my understanding of our shared history fracturing. "You know she's gone, don't you?" I asked, my voice lowering with an edge of urgency.
Chad didn't reply. His silence stretched long and heavy, like an unspoken accusation. I hesitated, then ventured, "Did you always know Mary was your mother?"
This time, he turned his head, his eyes briefly meeting mine. There was a faint flicker of something—sarcasm, maybe, or disdain—before he answered, "No."
That single word unsettled me. I stared at him, trying to piece together what he meant. "Then… you only realized when we met at the Murias gate? Is that when it clicked for you?"
Chad's gaze darkened, his expression hardening into something colder. He still didn't speak, but his silence felt like a warning. I could feel the tension between us rising, sharp and unrelenting.
I softened my tone, hoping to find some common ground. "Did you ever… go to see her? I think she would have wanted to see you."
For the first time, Chad reacted. His jaw tightened, and when he spoke, his voice was low and edged with bitterness. "If she really wanted to see me, she wouldn't have left me. She wouldn't have abandoned me just days after I was born."
Abandoned?
The word hit me like a blow, leaving me stunned. Why would Mother abandon him? Did she flee from Sky Cities to the underground? No, that didn't add up. Chad and I were fourteen years apart. If she'd left him after his birth, then where had she been during those fourteen years? Why had she left her firstborn behind? None of it made sense.
"Why did she leave?" I asked, my voice quieter now, more uncertain.
Chad let out a bitter laugh, his eyes narrowing as he fixed them on me. "She's your mother, not mine. Would you call someone who abandoned you at birth a mother?"
I had no answer to that.
The mother I had known in Tirfothuinn was kind and nurturing, always caring for the children under her charge. She was a symbol of warmth and patience. The idea that she could leave her own child—leave Chad—felt incomprehensible. Yet the bitterness in Chad's voice carried the weight of undeniable truth.
After a pause, Chad spoke again, his tone as measured as it was detached. "When we met at the Murias gate, I started looking into you. Into her. You were born in Tirfothuinn, right? Raised there. She hemorrhaged when she gave birth to you, badly enough that they had to remove her uterus. That's why you were her only child."
The words hit me heavily. I had never known this about my mother, never questioned her role in the logistics team or why she had stopped fighting on the front lines. She had always seemed devoted to her work, to caring for others.
"She couldn't have more children," Chad continued, his voice cool and detached. "She became a caretaker, looking after newborns. From the moment you were born, she was there for you. Even if you two never acknowledged it out loud, she gave you all the love she had."
His words cut deep, each one a revelation that left me reeling. I could feel the weight of his unspoken accusation: that I had taken everything from him. That I had lived the life he should have had.
"Is that why you resent me?" I asked, my voice quiet but steady.
Chad raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Resent you?" he repeated, his tone laced with irony. "You think I'm holding a grudge because you got all the maternal love? If I really resented you, do you think I'd be hiding you here? Do you think I'd be keeping this from Lugh? That's more generosity than you deserve."
I looked down, unable to meet his eyes. His words stung, but I couldn't argue. He had a point—whether or not he resented me, he was protecting me now. That was more than I could have expected.
"But," Chad added, his tone softer now, "I don't hate you. Even if you are my half-brother, the one who got everything I never had."
I glanced up, searching his face for any sign of sincerity. His expression was calm, almost too calm, as if he had already made peace with a truth I was only beginning to grasp.
"How did you know?" I asked after a long pause. "That we're brothers, I mean. Did your father tell you? Who is he?"
Chad's movements stilled. He turned to face me fully, his eyes sharp and unreadable. "It wasn't my father. I don't have a father."
His response was cryptic, and I frowned, unsure of what he meant. "Then how did you know?" I pressed.
"I guessed," Chad said simply, his tone casual, almost dismissive. "We look alike. Wasn't hard to figure out."
His answer left me momentarily speechless. I remembered him saying earlier that looking alike didn't mean anything, that it was common enough to be meaningless. And now he was using that same resemblance as proof of our connection? He was impossible to pin down.
I took a slow breath, forcing myself to stay calm. "So… you're a werewolf too, then? But your eyes—they're not gold."
"Half-werewolf," Chad replied, his tone clipped.
"Half?" I repeated, my frown deepening. "Does that mean you can still shift?"
Chad didn't answer. His silence was heavier this time, his expression giving nothing away. I studied him carefully, trying to decipher whether he was an ally or an enemy.
"I promised Dara I'd keep you safe," Chad finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was steady, his tone carrying an authority that left no room for argument. His sharp gaze locked onto mine, unwavering. "But you'll have to follow my rules. Every single one."
I hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. Finally, I nodded. "Okay."
"First rule," Chad continued, his tone as sharp as a blade, "you don't leave this apartment. Not even into the hallway. Sky Cities is wired with surveillance cameras, just like the underground."
I frowned, muttering under my breath, "Not entirely. There are always blind spots."
Chad's eyes flicked toward me, his expression suddenly sharper, almost amused. "I know. No. 7 Quarry is one of them."
I froze, startled by his response. "You know about that? Then why didn't you—"
"If I'd turned you in," Chad interrupted, his voice as cold as the night outside, "you wouldn't have made it out. And Tirfothuinn wouldn't exist."
The weight of his words hit me like a punch to the chest, leaving me speechless. Was he really protecting me out of some hidden loyalty? Or was there another game at play, one I couldn't yet see? Chad's every action was layered, calculated—he was impossible to read.
Without another word, he stood abruptly, brushing past me with a purposeful air. His presence loomed like a shadow. "It's late," he said, his voice curt, leaving no room for argument. "You're sleeping on the couch."
I watched as he moved toward the bedroom, his back rigid, his footsteps deliberate. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone in the tense quiet of the room. For the first time, I felt the full weight of my isolation—and the precarious nature of his protection.
"Fine," I muttered, then hesitated. "I'm starving."
Chad turned, his voice flat as he pointed toward the kitchen. "There's food in the fridge and cabinets. But don't touch the peach yogurt or biscuits. Those are for Dara."
His words sent a jolt through me. Peach yogurt and biscuits? Those weren't the kind of things Deborah would have ever chosen. At least, not the Deborah I thought I knew. But Chad said it so casually, as if it were an unspoken truth between them.
I sat down, my mind racing with questions I couldn't begin to answer. What was Chad to Deborah? And why did it feel like he knew her better than I ever could?