...

  Mom... Dad...

  How much power do I deserve to wield?

  Which lines do I not cross?

  With the strength to do anything I wish,

  do I play god just by living?

  ...

  A man, weapon, monster, or devil,

  which one does my Dust make me?

  Which one am I without it?

  And which one damned my soul to the latter?

  ...

  Why am I struggling to remember you?

  ...

  It's far earlier in the morning than he usually wakes at, even for school days. The sun is only just rising. Regardless, a restless Niel drags himself out of bed to face the day. Illia hasn't left his mind for even a collective minute since yesterday evening. Dwayne called the police immediately after Niel confirmed her disappearance, and after some investigation in the area, the footage from a lone camera confirmed everyone's worst fears: it was foul play. As she was leaving the forest on her return home, a red car stopped next to her, and a small group of masked assailants grabbed and blindfolded her, and then forced her inside the trunk at gunpoint.

  Invictus. Unconfirmed, but without a doubt—it was Invictus.

  That acidic burning when he was shown the footage—only since the lab had he felt it before. The pounding of adrenaline through his first heart and midnight hatred through his second. No other time since has he wanted to scream in such bloody fury, to rip concrete from foundation and limb from limb. To let every particle of wrath out of the void in his soul to rend every transgressor that dared to hurt the people who gave him another chance at life. So desperately did he want to become that monster again and tear through the city to find her.

  What stayed his hand was the fact that he's not alone. The misery and the agony of the others around him—Mabel's wailing cries, Gabriel's own outrage, Dwayne's cursing, and the fear and laments of Reed, Lydia, and Voltaire. There's so much to lose now if he rampages. Of all of them, why did it have to be her, the only one without a Mute? The most skittish, defenceless, and innocent of them all? Why couldn't Niel have gone with her? She'd be safe if he had gone with her! No matter how much he wishes he could go back, all that's left now is her visage on his phone, the portrait of her AMBER Alert. Without rest or an appetite, it's the only fuel he has left. Niel leaves a note behind and steps out into this bitter, warming dawn.

  What could be useful for him to find? A red car with no license plate, random thugs in alleyways, the remnants of a singular crime in a city full of it. How will these lead back to Illia? Finding Alanna felt almost impossible, and that was immediate and actively in progress. But he has to try. For her, he has to try. The Devil and his army must sleep in on the weekends because Niel can't find a single damned soul roaming the alleys. Where was the old safe house again? 224 Riverbend Drive sounds familiar, and sure enough he recognizes the dilapidated house. Unfortunately, there's no one here at the moment, though it certainly isn't abandoned. The floors are scuffed and dirty, worn clothes are scattered here and there, and Niel dares not to leave the shadows for fear of staining his own clothes with the stench of burnt marijuana. With nothing useful for him here and likely nothing until later in the day, Niel leaves in dismay.

  It's been a couple of hours since he left home and he's no closer to Illia. As he stalks the now-bustling city from the rooftops above, his phone buzzes with an incoming call—it seems his guardians found the note he left behind. However, the first thing that crosses his mind is how they're awake sooner than he predicted.

  "Niel, where are you?" Mabel asks, displeased. Niel didn't expect her to be very supportive of his decision to leave, but she sounds especially vexed.

  "In the city looking," he responds honestly.

  She breathes an exasperated sigh at this. "You need to come home."

  "I need to find her."

  "No, you need to come home. Now. You have some explaining to do."

  The Warden's Key shines brightly as fear and dread flood his heartbeat—Mabel doesn't put her foot down like this often. Something is horridly wrong. He hears Gabriel and Dwayne in the background of the call, but there are others, too. Is it the police again? Niel has no choice but to return home, and quickly at that.

  Upon nearing the home, two police cruisers parked on the side of the road confirm the unknown voices he heard. He walks through the front door, apprehensive and weary of what his fate may be, and immediately all eyes are on him. His guardians, Dwayne, the three police officers, and the other children. It feels like his soul is on the stand being judged by God himself. All the rage and resolve he felt earlier has withered, and he wants to follow it away from here. Anywhere but here.

  "I had a ransom letter left on my door this morning. From Invictus. They want half a million dollars in exchange for her return," Dwayne begins, none of his normal enthusiasm left to be found. Niel dares not speak out of turn as an officer shows him the wrinkled sheet of paper. "Now, why is it that you are named in this?"

  'If we hear that Niel is looking for her, we won't guarantee her safety,' reads the passage in question.

  Niel's heart rate spikes as his blood pressure crashes. His breathing is as shaky as the tremble in his hands and the tingling in his face. The Warden's Key shines and flashes so brightly under his sweater that the officers ask him to remove it. This whole time, they've been watching him. Stalking him. Learning. This kidnapping wasn't random, it was revenge for him interfering. Interfering with Voltaire's murder, and possibly rescuing Callum and Alanna. He brought this home, and it cost them Illia. No matter what he did or didn't do yesterday, no matter how anyone could possibly argue in his favour, this is all his fault.

  Everyone is watching. Another innocent life. All his fault.

  The light from below his vision reflects from white wall tiles. He's cornered again like the beast he is. It's so dark... he's so close to passing out. He can't. He can't. Revenge. It's all his fault. Has to make it right. Has to escape. It's all his fault.

  From beyond where he can register, everyone watches in confusion or horror as that painfully familiar smog drips from his forearms to envelop him in a protective veil. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, and his hunched posture is one of wounded survival. No one dares to make any sudden movements. The officers don't know what to expect from this black shroud.

  "Enough..." Mabel whimpers as her face becomes awash with guilty tears. Some of the attention that was reserved for Niel is now drawn to her. It took so little time, and yet the damage they've all caused... "Everyone go to the kitchen or go upstairs."

  If such an overwhelming gaze of accusation and scrutiny was enough to trigger this, then what he needs now is the exact opposite. Dwayne and Gabriel usher the other children upstairs before making themselves scarce for the moment. Poppy, hidden in the kitchen, remains that way. Not fully understanding the details but grasping the severity of the situation, the officers step back to give Mabel and Niel space.

  "P-please! You s– no more tests!" Niel croaks breathlessly. He's poised to bolt through the door at a moment's notice. The officers can't fathom what tests he's referring to.

  "Niel, Niel. It's okay. You're not there," Mabel coaxes, trying hard not to let the sorrow and fear splinter her voice.

  Each step forward she takes is a careful and measured one. His expression was always stiff and hard to read, but the pain he displays unknowingly now... The billowing light from the Warden's Key fills his stained glass eyes. Mabel keeps trying to make her voice heard. From somewhere behind her, Gabriel tries to assist by hooking the penitential pendant's chain with his own Mute, but the swathe of Dust rips the conjured platinum down to particles he can no longer feel. Slowly but ever-so surely, Mabel is able to talk Niel's defences down enough for her to breach them, and she carefully removes the Warden's Key from around his neck. The light immediately fades the moment it's taken away. Niel is able to collect himself soon after this with Mabel's help, and he lays exhausted, trembling, and emotionally numb in her equally frightened arms.

  "I'm...sorry..." Niel shallowly breathes.

  Mabel sighs sharply—the result of her holding back an anguished cry. "This isn't your fault..."

  Sitting on the stairs just out of sight, Voltaire listens to the heartbreak happening below. He's not innocent in this, either. He knows just as well why Niel was named in the ransom. All he wanted was to protect Niel, as Niel protected him, and all it did in the end was cause more harm than good. Voltaire swallows his fear and descends to talk to the police below.

  "A few months ago, Invictus tried to kill me when me and Niel were on a walk," Voltaire somberly admits to the officers and his guardians, and unknowingly, Reed and Lydia above him. "Niel protected me and fought them off. That's why they know him."

  "Seriously?" Gabriel says hoarsely at the reveal of this secret. Realization hammers the air from his lungs as he comes to the same conclusion that Niel did, and he leans his head against the wall in anguished exasperation.

  "Why did you tell us this?" Dwayne asks demandingly. To that, neither Voltaire nor Niel can come up with an answer. Thinking back, there really wasn't a need to keep this hidden. They didn't go looking for that fight, and they tried to escape first. Thus, they weren't at fault, and they wouldn't have gotten in trouble for it.

  So why did Niel decide to keep this a secret?

  "I'd like to ask you some more questions about that, if you don't mind," one of the two male officers says to Voltaire as he pulls a small notebook and pencil from a pocket on his uniform.

  While Dwayne supervises Voltaire's interview in the private room with the two male officers, the lone female officer questions Niel in the living room. Though their words are different, both recall being stalked and followed by the gang, and then being corralled into an alleyway when they tried to lose their pursuers. They also talk about how the intention was for them to be killed, as admitted to by the leader of that hit squad. Where their stories start to muddle is when Dark Dust gets involved. Niel knows when, where, and how he used it, but he doesn't want to give details on what his Mute is. Meanwhile, Voltaire doesn't know what he should or shouldn't say. What they do provide though ends up being sufficient, and with their stories ultimately matching enough to confirm they're the victims of attempted murder, both are let off the hook. Niel is also warned to not leave the house again.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  With nothing more for him on the first floor, Voltaire decides to just return to his room and wait for something—anything to happen next. Niel chooses to do the same, but on his way past Lydia's room, a realization turns into a question for her, and he turns back around and shuts her door behind him.

  "What?" she snarls from her bed, pink stuffed rabbit at her side. In a similar vein to her parents before, her anger towards him is visceral.

  "You didn't tell them about Callum," Niel says, shame underlining his words.

  "You're surprised I didn't rat you out?" she questions before taking a steadying breath. "If I told the police about him, they'd probably end up arresting him, and then that would cause problems for his daughter."

  "And you didn't want that."

  "I did it for her, not you," Lydia affirms. She takes another breath and her anger calms somewhat, as if her own words brought her an epiphany. Her voice, though, remains shaky. "You fought Invictus for a reason. If you didn't, that little girl and Voltaire would've been hurt. But, I'm still so...fucking—"

  "Pissed at me?" Niel finishes.

  Lydia sighs in conflicted frustration. "So much I could hit you," she stammers out.

  "Then do it." His pained gaze drops to the floor, and hers rises to his face. "Maybe hitting a monster will make you feel bet—"

  All the calming down she tried to do for his sake meant nothing in the end. Niel sees it coming from so far away, and yet he decides to choose penance instead. Without hesitation or any holding back, Lydia strikes Niel in the jaw as hard as she can with the back of her hand. The repercussions are immediately felt by both. Niel staggers with stars clouding his vision and a throbbing pain in his face—he's not used to taking hits like this and allowed it anyways. Lydia lets out a shrill, pained cry through gritted teeth as she clutches her right hand, and she collapses to her knees to sob into the side of her bed.

  "...Don't call..." she whimpers, but it's all she has the strength to get out. With no more voice left in her, she uses her Mute to pick him up and place him outside her room before slowly closing the door after him.

  Niel can't bring himself to talk to Reed after this failure, so he quietly returns to his room.

  Downstairs, the police are wrapping up what they came here to do, which means Mabel and Gabriel can finally take a moment to breathe. None of them, not even the children have had breakfast yet. At least Poppy can get to work now that these distractions and delays have run their course. In the meantime, the two guardians think it best to check on the kids; Mabel will attend Reed and Lydia, and Gabriel—Niel and Voltaire.

  Niel hears a heavier set of footsteps approaching, and he doesn't need his Dust to tell Gabriel apart from Mabel. His guardian finds him at the window looking out at the police presence dwindling.

  "Come on over from the window," Gabriel somberly requests. It's shut and the latch is closed, but he sees the longing in the boy's eyes. Niel complies and the pair sit on his bed to talk.

  "How are you holding up?" Gabriel asks.

  Instead of saying anything, Niel lightly shakes his head. His jaw is sore. He hasn't eaten for hours and yet his appetite still eludes him. Stacking fatigue is causing him occasional bouts of dizziness.

  And yet, all of this combined doesn't even hold a candle to the guilt he feels.

  "I just... I wish you told us." Gabriel halts this train of thought. Niel already understands the magnitude of this situation, so trying to hammer it in any more is pointless. Besides, the more responsible he feels, the more likely he is to do something rash. And, Lord knows, there's nothing they can realistically do to stop him. So...

  "Thank you for protecting Voltaire," Gabriel says earnestly as he places a hand on Niel's shoulder.

  No. Niel turns his head away from his guardian. There's no 'thanks' he could be given here. It's not good enough. He protected one at the cost of another; that's not good enough! All of this bitterness claws its way to the top of his throat, giving voice to a cruel thought that won't cease its tormenting.

  "I've been thinking about leaving the city after I find Illia, and never coming back," Niel admits morosely.

  "...Why?" Gabriel's response is as simple as it is dismayed.

  "I'm putting you all in danger just by being here. Invictus now is just a taste; the lab will be so much worse. If I go far away and reveal myself to them, they'll leave you all alone. I can't stay here anymore."

  "Niel, please don't put yourself down like this..." Niel has never heard Gabriel's voice break so heavily before. "Regardless of the lab, you're still welcome here. That won't change."

  "Will you say the same thing should the lab kill one of us?"

  Gabriel sighs as his heart shatters further. Truly, he doesn't know how to answer this. He deeply cares about Niel, but so does he for the others. He can't sacrifice one for another.

  "...Yes," he says, more so as a means to pacify them both. Niel catches this hesitation but chooses not to address it. "Just, please stay here and let the police find Illia, okay?"

  "I can't..." Niel's voice is barely louder than a whisper. "I have to find her."

  "Please?" Gabriel reiterates. Ever after this, Niel can't bring himself to agree.

  He won't show it, but Gabriel toils with this hatred—fervent hatred at what is happening to his family. The harm brought to one of their own. The crossroads it leaves him at. Take the law into his own hands, or sit idly by and let the police find Illia for him; neither brings an appeasing answer. The former throws everything away, and the latter makes him feel like a failure as a father and a protector. How desperately he wishes to act, to retrieve his gun and take up his call sign of 'Archangel' again. But, this isn't an action movie. He's not out in the desert anymore. His actions have real consequences here, and should he rampage with lead and hate, then he'll be forsaking his family under the weight of the law crashing down on him. Oh, how he loathes that violence of action won't solve this problem without causing new ones.

  * * *

  Iron shackles dig uncomfortably into Illia's wrists and ankles. With only a closed door and no windows or working overhead lights, this concrete room is dim despite the daylight hours. She's hungry, thirsty, tired, stiff, and she needs to use the toilet again soon. She was escorted to the bathroom just outside this room earlier hoping to find a way to escape, but all she got was another reason to clean herself thoroughly once she's let free. Or, if she's let free. The worn mattress that serves as her bed may reek of mildew and who-knows-what, but it's better than sitting on the hard floor. Along with it, she gets one equally poor-quality blanket and no pillow, making last night a cold and sleepless one combined with her chains. Food was provided some time ago, just a jam sandwich hiding God-knows-what else within along with a granola bar and a bottle of water. Illia's told she won't see any more until the evening.

  Specifically, she was told this by one of the other hostages she shares this room with. 36-year-old Adrian McCormick has spent four days now in this facility and has come to understand the treatment they'll be getting from this nightmare. Along with him, there's 31-year-old Olivia Lyons and 24-year-old Annabel Haley, both brought here two days ago. Illia had to make extra gestures to tell them her name, as none of them know sign language. She found their rage and horror upon learning her age oddly comforting.

  Despite their deprivations here, Illia has one potentially important piece of information she keeps repeating in her head. Yesterday, as she was yanked out of the trunk of that car and hauled toward somewhere that wasn't here, she thought through her fear and adrenaline to try lifting her blindfold to steal a quick peek. Maybe not the best idea, but she had an arm free. Yeah, probably not the best idea—because the moment she tried, something metal struck her hard on the right side of her head. Probably one of their pistols, considering she felt its muzzle pressed to her temple as she laid dazed on the ground. They warned her that if she saw something she shouldn't have, they knew where she lived. Of course she saw something: a house number and a street sign, and that address is what she repeats in her head now. A trade-off for her glasses that now sit loosely and broken on her bruised face.

  The other hostages don't talk too much. They're not allowed to, so conversations are kept quiet, short, and spaced apart. A favourite of Adrian's is to tell them that help is coming eventually. Even if its effect is only menial, it does give them some amount of hope. Someone has to be looking for them. Of course, with whatever fate that exists, their little spark of hope is smothered when a small group of armed guards eventually come to take Adrian away. One of them sizes up the trio of female captives, spending more time on Annabel than the other two.

  "Don't try anything stupid, got it kid?" a different thug jeers at Illia. "Or we may just hurt'cha."

  "Don't you fucking—" Adrian's defence of her gets cut off with the butt of a rifle to his head, causing the women to squeak in fear and Illia to tense up and hyperventilate.

  "Move your ass, pig!" a third thug barks, and Adrian is forced out of sight.

  "Well, it might happen anyways, if that brat with the black Mute tries anything," the second thug finishes. His glare burrows deep into Illia's soul.

  The first chuckles creepily. "Or if we get bored."

  The door to their cell-room closes and clicks with a lock. Now there's only three of them left trembling in the darkness, and Illia no longer needs to use the bathroom.

  >>>>>>

  Another night, another bout of anxious insomnia despite the intensity of judo today. Can Illia somehow find any form of rest wherever she's being held? Niel hopes that whatever once filled this void of restlessness finds its way to her. He would stay awake all weekend if it meant that she could have even one night of good sleep. With his rest no closer, he decides to rise from his bed. He wants—no, needs some form of comfort, so he decides to visit a place recently left vacant: Illia's bedroom.

  What was once a cozy foxhole of toys, plushies, and lights is now only its antithesis—cold, dark, and uncharacteristically organized and clean. It's the only room in the house where the curtains aren't pulled closed, giving a clear view to the outside. He almost thinks he finds her in bed, cozied up under every bed sheet, a plush captured snugly in her arms. His Dust reminds him it's only his fatigue in the darkness. How would the Warden's Key have reacted to this? How brightly would it remind him of this second-greatest failure? A peculiarity draws his attention to a desk drawer. He didn't mean to pry; in the same way one's gaze may lower unconsciously to a place inappropriate, Niel accidentally allowed his Dust to wander the room. So, what is in the drawer?

  Niel thought he forbade her, but she managed to sneak a handful of petals home. Mostly dried now, but still holding onto their colour. Secreted away to here in this drawer. He couldn't promise Gabriel that he wouldn't leave the house. This is why.

  On the floor below, two more are kept awake. Mabel tosses and turns in vain trying to find enough comfort to sleep. Meanwhile, Gabriel has all but abandoned the notion and instead stares at the cross hanging next to the window. Everything that happens is said to be God's plan. But why Illia? How does harming her in this way further His great plan? Gabriel can't understand. So instead, he sits up and parts the curtains with his Mute to face the moonlight.

  "Lord, what purpose does this serve?" Gabriel begins, the stillness of the night keeping his voice low. "Where does Illia fall into Your plan? To what end will her suffering bring? I don't understand. Is this a test of faith? Of resolve? Please forgive me, but all I have now is fear."

  Upon hearing him pray, Mabel sits up to join and comfort her husband. She doesn't have the words like he does, but his carry her feelings as well. She'll join him at the end.

  Niel pulls his sweater on as he opens his room's window by an unseeable amount. The Warden's Key glows dimly from his neck, eager to help him make yet another mistake.

  Gabriel continues. "I fear for her safety, God. I also trust that You are merciful. So I beg You, Lord—please keep her safe. Please keep Your light by her, to keep her warm in the cold dark. And if those that oppose You keep her trapped against Your will, then I beg of You this: please send her an angel or a champion of Your will to save her."

  Why did Niel hide his defence of Voltaire? As he disappears into the night, he finally understands why. It's the crux of his being, why he does what he does, why he chases a redemption he knows he can never deserve. It all comes down to responsibility. The responsibility of his actions, his mistakes. The responsibility of power, of protection. The sins he bears are his alone. So he should bear them alone. Why should he allow others to be crushed by his actions? To worry about him? To suffer for him? The lab is his responsibility, his ordeal to overcome or be drowned by, and leading them away will keep everyone he loves safe. He has to correct this. He has to save her. The eight sins upon his shoulders are his to bear.

  Even if he has to do it alone.

  "Amen."

  "Amen."