Ordered To Kill
Damien didn't look up as his brother entered the room. He kept his eyes on the book in his lap, the pages covered in foreign characters that meant nothing to him.
"Didn't know you could read Ancient Script." Luke flopped down onto the leather couch beside him.
"I can't," Damien replied, closing the book and setting it aside.
Luke surveyed him through his dyed red bangs. "Well that doesn't make much sense then does it?" he laughed, then frowned when Damien didn't join him. "Something wrong?" he asked.
"No," Damien answered, lying back on the couch, feet toward Luke. He pulled the dagger from his belt and twirled it skillfully between his fingers. "Do you believe in fate?" he asked after a long silence.
"Fate?" Luke repeated. He turned his gaze upward, thinking. "I suppose so… in a sense. Why?"
"Do you believe Talia was innocent?" Damien asked. His free hand found his throat where a pewter wolf hung from a thin silver chain. It looked out of place around his neck – too delicate.
Luke paused and looked down at his brother. "Do you?"
"I don't think it matters."
"It mattered this morning, Damien."
Damien didn't reply. He fixed his gaze on the bookshelves behind Luke's head. "That was this morning. It's night now; the day is long."
Luke's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about Daim?"
Damien rolled off the couch and stood. "Nothing. I'm going to bed." He slipped the dagger back into its sheath at his belt and left the library.