Part of her might have liked to lay claim to some sense of relief settling in against her bones being so near and now entirely aware that he was, physically, okay. For the better part, she knew it lived there somewhere, in the narrow ventricles of a heart that truly only beat so vibrantly for her brothers. However, she’d long since allowed herself to fall victim to being so blinded by such a thing when the depths of reality had drowned her long before. “Who?” She already knew that he had no idea who it was, the multiple statements that’d found their way across her desk had left them with little else to go on beyond the striking obviousness of the hit being taken out by those standing war against the Ivory. “Who was it, Sydney?” She’d cling to it; a life altering pitch between her work and the crossroads her family put themselves on, her panic didn’t serve anyone if she so let herself fall into it.
The pit of her stomach lurched, the woman not at all unaware of what might come from his timely involvement, even if he’d been little more than a bystander. That he’d been there at all, and Milena King was dead, was a sure sign that Sydney had been pitched forth into the blackened depths of lacking time. “You’re done.” Her voice iron like, unwilling to so easily buckle to what she feared most. Though it was no secret that the Delore family could well enough hold their own against the likes of those they set out to rid from their city, Sydney didn’t stand on the premise of their family name — he was someone else entirely, and no amount of fear and respect their family name carried found itself in what he did. Their lived always had an expiry date, nobody that played with fire so effortlessly as they could ever hope to cling to some sense of longevity, but this wasn’t how she’d let her brother meet his end. “Nobody finds out. You’re done, Sydney. This isn’t what you signed up for.” It wasn’t her call to make, but damned if she wouldn’t try to make it anyway.
David in fact could remember the last time he had felt this scared, Like the time he’d gotten the news in the hospital, the same hospital they were in now that his wife had died. It was that same stiffening fear that tightened his chest and made his throat dry up. His hands trembled as they dropped to his sides, clenched into fists as he tried to hide the fear from his sister, or even convince himself that he was okay. “I don’t know,” he spoke, uncertainty lifting a tremor in his voice, he had absolutely no idea. He was lucky he was spared, the thought shook him. Only repeating the same phrase in a whisper when she asked again, “I don’t know.” Blue eyes lifting to meet his sisters, who only stared confused back at him. All his life he knew his sister to be strong, she was so much stronger than he was, always had been. And she was scared, he could recognize the signs. The clenched jaw, the assertive tone and the way her eyes were locked on him. She was trying to control the situation, but this wasn’t in her control.
As the big brother he felt like had to try and be stronger for her, to hold it all in. Tell her that everything was going to be fine and he’d figure it out. But staring back into those blue eyes. He felt lost. Words escaped him. There was nothing more he wanted to do than to crawl back to his old home in Norther Quebec and sink into that mental hole he’d dug himself into when his wife died. But that wasn’t possible. Not anymore. The Syndicate had him in their scope and he would have to face them eventually. Either as David or Sydney Delore. “Sav,” he shook his head, finding himself holding back tears, “you can’t make that decision,” he tried to smile, only one corner of his mouth lifting. He wanted to apologize for everything, for putting her through this. For making her and his brothers worry. For not being there. For missing everything. All he could croak out was a small apology, “I’m sorry. I=” he fell short, for a long time, letting the words settle in and try and figure out what to say, “We’ll get through it. We always do.”
