Chapter 19

  Radio on.[ J4Y DnD ] drifts from the speakers.

  The engine hums violently as we roll through the dark city lights, heading back to our small, empty home. The song isn’t a classic—just something Thomas liked. It feels nostalgic, not sad, but heavy. Hard, knowing the person who mattered most isn’t here to share it.

  “So… I saw you talking to Vigo. I assume he wanted something? Fine, I’m sure Brook already told you to tell him to fuck off,” Selena says as the music fades and silence swallows the car.

  “Yeah? So what,” I snap.

  Conversations with Selena are never simple. She always says something I don’t want to hear.

  “Oh, nothing. Just… I hope you get used to dealing with snakes like those, because that’s the job now, boss.” She chuckles, the last word a jab.

  “Well, what if I don’t want to do this for the rest of my life? You seem more than happy dealing with this shit,” I bite back.

  “I guess that’s what happens when you’ve got—nothing really going for you besides liquor, I suppose.”

  Selena sniffs. “Oh, is that what it looks like to you?”

  “Yeah.”

  That’s all I could manage.

  The car speeds faster, tires burning faintly against the asphalt, but the cabin remains silent. Just the hum of the engine, the weight of her gaze.

  Then she breaks the silence awkwardly.

  “So… can I ask you a question, Elijah?”

  “No…” I mutter.

  “What’s actually your plan, kid? Because even if we find out what happened to Thomas… what do you think comes next?”

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  My throat tightens. I’ve asked myself that question a thousand times, and her asking doesn’t magically produce an answer. But I have to say something. I exhale slowly.

  “Um… I don’t know. Jail? The police…”

  Selena turns, eyes narrowing, confirming whether I’m joking.

  “Ha. If that’s genuinely what you think, you’re dumber than I thought. Everyone from the mayor to the chief of staff was at that funeral, all in black suits. Do you think any of them care about morals over money? Especially when it’s coming from one of the wealthiest families in the world who probably fucked us over?”

  I remain silent as she rumbles on, pointing out my unpreparedness, her words sharp but grounding in a twisted way.

  “I can’t believe Brook thinks you have anything resembling Thomas’s leadership,” she sighs. “I’m sure it’s just grief. Once this pain passes, he’ll see—he’d be better off running the company himself. Blood doesn’t make decisions, especially when it looks like you.”

  I can’t tell if she’s praising Brook or attacking me, but everything she says feels like a punch. I have no energy to argue with someone who’s half right.

  “Well, I wouldn’t mind him running the company himself. I never said I wanted this. I have dreams. I have goals.”

  Selena chuckles. Mocking, again. “Sure, buddy. What did you want to be—a fitness influencer? I’m sure that would’ve helped.”

  That’s it. I’ve had enough. I don’t mind her grieving, but is everything a joke unless she decides it is?

  “Fuck off. I’ve always wanted to be a doctor,” I snap, pausing. She stops too.

  I realize I haven’t thought about myself in a long time. Feels like ages. This is a dream I had long before, and one Thomas himself supported. I won’t let someone with an attitude derail it.

  “A doctor… Thomas could have needed one. Where were you then?”

  “That’s unfair. And you know it.”

  Selena pouts. The faintest hint of recognition flickers—my words hitting home.

  “Anyway… let’s just forget it. I still love early mornings.”

  Selena, without turning her head, asks sharply, “Why are you going somewhere?”

  It hits me: we haven’t discussed day-to-day life since we started living together.

  “Of course I’m going to school. I still go. I haven’t told any of my friends what happened. I just… vanished.”

  She bursts out laughing—sad, sorrowful, arrogant. Her driving becomes unsteady. My palms sweat as I grip the seat for balance.

  “School? Tell me you’re joking. Not in the middle of a war… and yeah, you’re actually thinking about school and updating your friends about what you ate for dinner?”

  Her laughter dies. A cold stare remains.

  “Fuck you,” I reply.

  “Who the fuck are you to tell me that? I’m the one who lost my father. Fuck your wars. My father needed a doctor, sure—but he also needed help—and isn’t that your whole thing? Violence?” My voice rises, huskier than I feel.

  “Or are you only able to fight with grieving children? I still need to go to school, and that’s final.”

  Selena goes quiet, as if conceding. Then, just as I think she understands, she adds:

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. Thomas didn’t need a doctor. He just needed a better son. Probably wouldn’t have died if it weren’t for you. Oh, and fuck you too.”

  I also lost a father.

  The ride home stretches on, dreadfully quiet. The road seems endless, punishing both of us. The radio hums on shuffle, songs playing we don’t register.

  Radio on. [I Watched the Moon]