Family Secret

Chapter 2

The playground was alive with noise—laughter, shouts, the dull clang of the rusted swings that swayed under the afternoon sun. Children darted across the cracked pavement and patchy grass, chasing each other in games that ended as quickly as they began.

Ryan sat on the low stone wall that ringed the yard, his elbows on his knees, green eyes scanning the chaos. His black hair stuck up in a way that looked both accidental and deliberate, while his olive skin glowed faintly in the light. Beside him, crouched on the ground, was Kyan. Identical in every feature—same black hair, same pale green eyes—yet somehow smaller in presence. Where Ryan’s energy crackled with impatience, Kyan’s focus was buried in the chalk drawings she scratched onto the tar with broken bits scavenged from the edges of the yard.

Ryan tilted his head back, breathing in the thin spring air. For a moment, he let himself enjoy it. The sun, the warmth, the sound of ordinary children playing. Normal things. Things that didn’t belong to him and Kyan, but he could pretend, just for a heartbeat.

Then he heard it.

A voice—not in his ears, but in his head. Sneering, sharp, ugly.

“Look at them. Creepy little freaks. Think they’re better than us. Wait ‘til we put them back in their place.”

Ryan exhaled heavily and muttered under his breath.

“Here we go again.”

Kyan glanced up, her grin small but knowing. “Klaus is going to punch you in the nose when he pretends to walk away.”

Ryan’s lips twitched. “Good to know.”

The warning gave him just enough patience to sit still as Klaus swaggered across the cracked pavement, flanked by his usual pack of shadows. Klaus was bigger than most of the kids, broad for seven, with a mess of blond hair and a permanent smirk that never reached his dull brown eyes. His followers, smaller and meaner, trailed after him like dogs waiting for scraps.

“Well, well, well,” Klaus drawled, stopping in front of the twins. “If it isn’t the freak show.”

One of his boys snickered. “They don’t even talk to anyone. They just whisper to each other. Probably planning something creepy.”

“Maybe they’re witches,” another chimed in, laughter bubbling behind the words.

Ryan’s jaw tightened, but he forced a smile. “If we were witches, don’t you think we’d turn you into something useful? Like a mop. Or a toilet brush.”

The boys howled with laughter, even as Klaus’s smirk faltered.

Ryan leaned back on the wall, eyes half-lidded. “Seriously, Klaus, you might want to work on your insults. ‘Freaks’ is old. Maybe try something with, I don’t know, creativity? But then again…” His gaze swept lazily over the boy. “…asking you to think might be too much.”

Klaus’s face reddened. His pack shifted nervously, their laughter cracking under the tension.

Before Klaus could spit out a comeback, the caretaker’s voice boomed across the yard.

“Alright, brats, inside! Lunch!”

The children scattered toward the doors, the sound of their shoes slapping the ground filling the air. Klaus turned with exaggerated slowness, shoulders tight, pretending to leave.

Ryan’s lips curved into a wry smile. He knew what was coming. Kyan’s vision had seen it clear as day.

As Klaus swung back suddenly, fist c****d, Ryan moved first. He caught the motion, twisted, and drove his own fist forward. It connected with a sharp crack against Klaus’s nose. The bully toppled backward, hitting the ground hard, clutching his face.

For a second, the yard went still.

Then came the sound—Klaus’s shrill cry, the sharp intake of breath from the other kids, the quick shuffle of his buddies pulling him upright. Blood stained Klaus’s lip, and his eyes burned with humiliated rage.

And standing a few feet away, the caretaker’s face turned red as a furnace.

“Ryan!” The man’s voice thundered as he pointed toward the building. “Inside. Now!”

Ryan sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. He didn’t even argue. He’d been here before. He glanced at Kyan, who offered him a tiny, unapologetic smile.

Ryan smirked back, just once. Worth it.

He brushed past the other kids and headed toward the building, knowing trouble was waiting for him on the other side of the door.

The short, stocky caregiver towered over Ryan, his meaty hand clenched tight around the boy’s shoulder as he dragged him back toward the building.

“You never learn, do you?” the man hissed, his sour breath hot against Ryan’s ear. “Every time there’s trouble, you’re in the middle of it. You and your little freak sister.”

Ryan didn’t flinch. He stared ahead, his green eyes cold, sharp, and far older than his seven years should have allowed. The insult slid off him like rain off stone. He had already heard the man’s thoughts before the words left his mouth—I should get rid of them. Ship them off to some other hole. Too much trouble, both of them.

The thought didn’t sting; it was nothing new. Everyone thought that. The children. The adults. The ones who adopted them and always brought them back. They’d been through it thirteen times already, each rejection carving a little deeper into Ryan’s chest.

Inside, the halls were dim and smelled faintly of mold and boiled cabbage. The peeling paint on the walls revealed cracked plaster underneath, and the few bulbs that still worked flickered weakly, casting shadows that seemed to follow the children everywhere.

The caregiver shoved Ryan toward the dormitory doors. “No lunch for you,” he snapped. “You want to use those fists? Fine. You’ll use your hands to scrub. Every inch of this dorm with your toothbrush. And don’t think about skipping corners—because if I catch you slacking, you’ll start all over again.”

He shoved a small, frayed-bristled toothbrush into Ryan’s hand and sneered. “Better make it shine.”

Ryan looked down at the brush, then at the grimy floor coated with years of dirt, dust, and who-knew-what else. His stomach growled, the smell of lunch wafting faintly from the kitchen down the hall, but he didn’t argue. What good would it do? They’d already made up their minds about him.

Dropping to his knees, he set the toothbrush against the cracked tiles and began to scrub.

The minutes dragged into an hour. His knees ached, his hands stung from the stiff bristles, and his stomach felt like it was folding in on itself. But Ryan kept working, jaw clenched, thoughts sharp and focused. Giving up wasn’t an option.

A soft humming broke the silence.

Ryan glanced up to see Kyan skipping into the room, her tattered dress swishing around her legs, her long black hair bouncing with every step. Her green eyes—identical to his—shone with unshakable innocence, as though the cruelty of the world had simply never taken root inside her.

She knelt beside him, tugging at the pocket of her dress before producing a squished sandwich, the bread smeared with peanut butter and jelly. Alongside it, she cupped her small hand to show him a scatter of cookie crumbs.

“I saved you some,” she whispered with a smile.

Ryan’s chest tightened. He scoffed, trying to play it off, but snatched the food from her hand before anyone else could notice. The sandwich was half-crushed, the cookie crumbs warm from her pocket, but he devoured them as if they were a feast.

Kyan clapped her hands softly, proud of herself. “See? Better now.”

Ryan wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, sighing. “You shouldn’t have done that, Kyan. If they catch you—”

“They won’t,” she cut in, beaming. “I know.”

Of course she knew. She always knew.

Ryan looked at her, at her fragile smile and the way she twirled a lock of her hair as she wandered toward the little wooden table in the corner, pulling out a box of broken crayons. She sat and began to scribble happily while the other children’s laughter drifted in from the playground outside.

He leaned back against the wall, toothbrush still in his hand, and let out another long sigh.

Kyan might be simple-minded, maybe even broken because of what The Order had done to her—but she was still the best part of his world. The only part worth protecting.

And Ryan would protect her. Always.

The next day, Ryan and Kyan sat huddled together in their usual corner of the drafty playroom. Kyan had a blunt crayon clutched in her hand, tongue poking from the corner of her mouth as she carefully scribbled shapes on wrinkled paper. Ryan leaned against the peeling wall, watching the other kids wrestle over a broken toy truck.

When Kyan proudly held up her drawing, Ryan frowned. The picture showed a tall man in a neat suit with a stern face, flanked on either side by two smaller figures that were unmistakably them—her scribbled version of Ryan’s messy hair and his sharp eyes, and her own rounder face with big green eyes.

Ryan arched an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to be?”

Kyan beamed, tapping the page. “That’s him. He’s gonna come for us. He’s nice.”

Ryan shook his head, muttering, “You and your pictures…” But he didn’t push it further. Kyan’s drawings had a way of making him uneasy sometimes.

Not long after, the creak of the office door drew everyone’s attention. The stocky caregiver waddled into the room, but his voice was uncharacteristically sweet and polite as he spoke, pointing out a few children to the visitor behind him. Ryan straightened as he caught sight of the man.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, his posture radiating discipline and control. A dark vest hugged his frame over a crisp white button-up, the sleeves rolled to reveal strong forearms. Black trousers completed the sharp image, polished shoes clicking faintly against the floorboards. A shadow of stubble lined his square jaw, and his short, neatly styled brown hair only added to his severe presence. His piercing eyes swept the room with a detached calculation, and when he spoke, his voice carried the crisp, deliberate edges of a British accent.

Ryan’s chest tightened. The man looked eerily like the one Kyan had drawn.

“This is Kayla,” the caregiver said, gently nudging forward a small, quiet four-year-old girl. “She’s very well-behaved.”

The man barely glanced at her before shaking his head. “I need a school-aged child. Seven years old, preferably. Second grade. And smart. Very smart. A boy would be preferable.”

The caregiver’s smile faltered, though his thoughts burned hot in his head—Prick. Picky, entitled bastard.

Ryan caught the thought and almost smirked. He leaned a little closer, curious.

Then the caregiver’s eyes lit up with false enthusiasm. “Well… we do have Ryan.”

He gestured toward the corner. Ryan stiffened as the man turned and approached.

“This is Nate Atkins,” the caregiver introduced with oily cheer. “Ryan’s a clever one—sometimes a little too clever for his own good.”

Nate’s gaze was unreadable as he studied Ryan. Then, without preamble, he fired a question. “What is the square root of one hundred forty-four?”

Ryan blinked. He knew some numbers, but not that. His mind scrambled—until Nate’s own thought flickered across his focus. Twelve. Obvious. Let’s see if the boy can manage it.

Ryan’s lips curved into a smirk. “Twelve.”

Nate’s brow lifted. Without missing a beat, he asked another, harder question—this time phrased like a challenge only an adult would know.

Ryan froze a second longer, then caught the man’s inner voice again. Twenty-eight. Surely he’ll stumble on this one.

“Twenty-eight,” Ryan said aloud, his smirk widening.

For the first time, Nate’s eyes narrowed with interest. He gave a small nod. “I’ll take him.”

Ryan stood abruptly, shaking his head. “And my sister.”

He pointed to Kyan, who was still hunched over her crayon drawing, humming softly to herself.

Nate’s jaw tightened. “I only need one child.”

Ryan planted his feet firmly. His voice was steady but edged with steel. “Then you don’t get either of us. We’re a package deal.”

Silence stretched. Nate weighed the boy’s defiance, but his thoughts betrayed him—The Academy deadline is closing in. No time left to waste. The other orphanages don’t have children this capable…

Ryan’s brow furrowed slightly as he caught the inner calculation, but he stayed quiet.

Finally, Nate let out a sharp sigh. “Fine. Both of you.”

Kyan squealed with delight and darted over, throwing her arms around Nate’s waist. The man froze, clearly unsure how to react to the unexpected affection. Ryan, meanwhile, only narrowed his eyes, suspicion written all over his face as he studied their new “guardian.”

Minutes later, the three of them stepped out of the orphanage together. One child on either side of Nate, just as Kyan had drawn in her picture.

Ryan glanced at her paper still clutched in her hand and felt an unease he couldn’t quite shake.