Prologue

"Isla, I need you to come do the dishes," Syren said, pausing in her doorway before continuing on her way down the hall. Isla sighed, placed her pencil on her drawing pad, and started for the doorway. She groaned when her little brother, Leon, ran into her room and snatched the book off her desk.

"Leon! Give that back, now!" she snapped. Leon sidestepped her lunge.

"Mommy! She's doing it again!" he screamed, dancing around the room to dodge her lunges.

"You little snitch!" Isla hissed, grabbing the little thin book back as her mother strode into the room. Leon hid behind her for protection, sticking his tongue out. Her mother have her a look of disapproval as she pointedly held out her hand for the book. Isla glared icily at the floor and handed Syren the book. Her mother looked at the picture in the book and raised her eyebrows at Isla.

"Isla, how many times do I have to tell you? You know I don't like you drawing pictures of your father," Syren began.

"But Mum, I can't help it, I—"

"Don't give me that again, young lady. I'll not have another word of that. Now I don't," she said as she tore the page out, "want to see this again." She handed Isla the now seven-paged, blank book back. The other 163 pages had been torn out by her mother. Isla gave a small, strained cry of protest when her mother tore the surprisingly detailed picture of her father, Junpei, in half. Syren turned and began to walk from the room. "Dishes. Now," she said over her shoulder. Isla sighed and leaned against her bedpost, her head beginning to throb.

"Get up, Boy, you got work to do!" the man snapped angrily. Ryan was instantly on his feet. "I want this house spotless by the time I get back from work. You got that, Boy? If I find even one spec of your mess, you're in for the beatin' of your life."

"Yes, Father," Ryan replied instantly. The man then left, grumbling something about a useless excuse for a son. Ryan bowed slightly at the waist and waited. He remained frozen like that until he heard the front door bang closed, then breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He waited until his father's car disappeared from sight as he scanned the multi-paged chore list, then walked outside, locked the door, and smiled. He always loved the free feeling he got as soon as his abusive father left. Even better, he was free to go where he wanted—see who and whatever he wanted.

A training dancer, Ryan's strength and flexibility allowed him to completely ignore the five stairs that led down from the front porch. Then he continued on his way to see Isla.