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Qatar clenched his fists. It wasn’t fair. the Castle had no right to drag skeletons out of every closet.

Quin fell as if struck by a Judge’s sentence.

Flashbacks. The doctor had said there would be flashbacks. Why can’t he just get over it? He clenched his fists tighter, driving his nails into his palm to try and make himself think of something else.

Just shake it off, Little Brother!

Pleading with fate never did do any good. I should know that by now, he thought bitterly. If the providence Mama believed in was real, it hated them. The whole Miller family.

It wasn’t fair to call him a–murderer. He wondered how many times he’d come close to calling him that himself, but shook the thought away. that’s different.

Basil raced over to him and seized his brother’s shoulder, shouting in his ear that the Castle was lying. Qatar winced and muttered, “That’s not gonna help.”

How would you know? Anger bubbled up inside him and he uncurled his hands only to clench them again. you don’t even know us; how would you know if it’s lying or not? What if it isn’t? What if I told you every word was true?

He turned away, trying not to look at Quin. But Quin was looking at him. He could feel his brother’s eyes on his back, begging him to turn around. Why should I turn for you? everything I lost was your fault.

He folded his arms across his chest and turned around. Okay, Little Brother. What is it?

Quin’s eyes were big and frightened, just as they had been that day; the day It happened. Disgust, stronger even than anger welled up inside him and he looked away. Deal with your own problems, little brother, and let me deal with mine.