The Riot

Chapter 55. Interrogation

The skip from tea to whiskey was as seamless as it was dangerous. Lydia had stayed just long enough to ensure everyone’s glass was full and the fire was stoked, her eyes twinkling with a mischief that suggested she knew exactly what kind of trouble she was leaving behind. With a final, motherly pat on Caspian’s cheek and a warm squeeze of Rayna’s hand, and retreated to the upstairs bedroom, her footsteps fading into the soft creaks of the settling house.

​The moment the bedroom door clicked shut, the air in the living room shifted. The "polite" veneer evaporated, replaced by the heavy, amber scent of a twenty-year-old single malt and the crackle of burning peat.

​Daniel didn't wait for a toast. He leaned forward, his fisherman’s sweater looking massive in the firelight, and poured another three fingers into his glass. Then he topped off Caspian’s. Finally, he held the bottle over Rayna’s glass, his eyebrow arched in a silent challenge.

​"It’s not for the faint of heart, Red," Daniel said, his Irish lilt thickening with the alcohol. "It’s got the kick of a mule and the memory of the bog. You sure you can handle the Hollow family’s 'good stuff'?"

​Rayna didn't flinch. She nudged her glass forward. "I’ve spent half my life drinking coffee that tasted like battery acid and sleeping on subway floors, Daniel. I think I can handle a bit of fermented barley."

​Daniel grinned, but it wasn't a friendly expression- it was the grin of a man preparing for a hunt. He poured, the liquid swirling like liquid gold. "Fair enough."

​Caspian sat back in the shadows of his armchair, his glass held loosely in his tattooed hand. He was already two fingers deep, and the "King’s" rigid posture had begun to fray at the edges. His hood was pushed back, his dark hair messy, and his emerald eyes were hooded, watching the interaction between his brother and his "friend" with a low-burning intensity.

​"So," Daniel started, taking a long, appreciative sip. "The 'Red Queen.' The woman who made the Mojave tremble. The one who has my brother breaking every rule he’s spent six years carving into stone."

​"Daniel," Caspian warned, his voice a low rumble. "Don't start."

​"I'm just curious, Lijah!" Daniel raised his hands, though he didn't look at his brother. His focus was entirely on Rayna. "I want to know if the woman sitting in my mother's kitchen is the same one who’s currently trending on every screen from here to Tokyo. Because the girl on the screen? She looks like a firestorm. The girl in the kitchen? She looks like she’s trying to disappear into a hat."

​Rayna felt the whiskey hit the back of her throat- a searing, smoky heat that made her eyes water for a split second before a pleasant, fuzzy warmth began to bloom in her chest. She leaned forward, mirroring Daniel’s posture. "The girl in the kitchen is tired, Daniel. And the girl on the screen is a version of me that Caspian helped build so I wouldn't have to be afraid anymore. They’re the same person. One just has better lighting."

​"A version he helped build," Daniel repeated, his voice dropping the playful edge for something sharper. "That’s the problem, isn't it? My brother doesn't build things, Rayna. He builds fortresses. He builds walls so high that the people inside forget what the sky looks like. And he’s doing it to you, isn't he? He’s got you tucked away in a stone house with thermal cameras and signal jammers, telling you it’s for your own good."

​"It is for her own good," Caspian snapped, his grip tightening on his glass. "You didn't see Morrison's face, Dan. You weren't there when the lift failed."

​"I saw the video!" Daniel shouted, the whiskey making his voice boom in the small room. He turned to Caspian, his face flushed with a mixture of booze and ancient, festering hurt. "I saw you playing God again! You think because you have the money and the tech, you can control the wind. You did it with Sarah, and now you’re doing it with her. You’re terrified that if she takes one step into the real world without your permission, she’ll break. And you’re making her believe she’s fragile just so you can feel like a hero."

​Rayna felt a surge of indignation, fueled by the whiskey. "I’m not fragile," she said, her voice cutting through the brothers' bickering. "And he doesn't make me feel like I am."

​Daniel turned back to her, his eyes searching. "Then why are you here? Why aren't you out there, signing the contracts, taking the world by the throat? Why are you hiding in a cottage in Mayo with a man who hasn't felt a real emotion since 2018?"

​"Because I chose to be here!" Rayna shot back. She felt a little lightheaded, the room spinning just a fraction, but her mind felt sharper than ever. "You think you’re the only one who lost something six years ago? Caspian lost his sister, his home, and his ability to trust anything that wasn't behind a biometric lock. He’s not 'playing God,' Daniel. He’s a man who’s terrified of failing again. He’s a man who stayed away from his mother for two years because he loved her enough to be invisible."

​Caspian looked at her then, a raw, stunned expression on his face. He hadn't expected her to defend him- not like this, not against his own blood.

​"He’s a mess," Rayna continued, her voice softening but staying firm. She took another gulp of the whiskey, feeling bold. "He’s stubborn, he’s obsessive, and he’s remarkably bad at admitting when he’s scared. But he’s the only person who looked at me and didn't see a paycheck or a 'brand.' He saw a person who was drowning. So yeah, I’m in his 'fortress.' Not because I’m a prisoner, but because for the first time in my life, someone actually cared enough to build a wall around me instead of between us."

​Daniel stared at her for a long beat, the silence in the room heavy with the weight of her words. The fire popped, a shower of sparks dancing behind the grate. A slow, drunken smile began to spread across Daniel’s face- not the hunter’s grin from before, but something weary and respectful.

​"You’ve got a hell of a bite for a 'friend,' Red," Daniel murmured, lifting his glass to her. "Lijah, where did you find this one? She’s got more balls than the three of us combined."

​Caspian let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for a decade. He slumped back into his chair, a faint, genuine laugh escaping his throat- the sound a bit ragged from the whiskey. "She found me, Dan. Backstage. She was singing about graves and I was... I was looking for one."

​"Well," Daniel sighed, standing up with a slight wobble. He reached for his coat, his movements sluggish. "I’ve stayed long enough to see that my brother is still an i***t, but at least he’s an i***t with good taste."

​He walked over to the armchair where Caspian sat and gripped his shoulder. The two brothers looked at each other- one of the life they’d once shared, the other a guardian of the life that remained.

​"Don't stay too long, Elijah," Daniel whispered, loud enough for Rayna to hear. "The longer you stay, the harder the silence is when you leave."

​Caspian nodded, his hand covering Daniel’s. "I know."

​Daniel turned to Rayna, looking at her one last time. His expression shifted into something unreadable- something hauntingly familiar.

​"She’s like Sarah," Daniel said, his voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire. "Not the hair or the voice. It’s the way she looks at you when you’re being a prick. Like she sees the boy inside the armor and she’s not impressed."

​He walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the latch. He looked back at Caspian, his eyes dark. "That’s why you’re terrified, brother. You’re not afraid she’s going to get hurt. You’re afraid that if she stays, you’ll start wanting to live again. And you don't think you deserve to."

​With that final, devastating blow, Daniel stepped out into the mist, the door clicking shut behind him.

​The silence that followed was absolute.

​The living room felt smaller now, the shadows longer. Rayna sat on the edge of her seat, the silver locket Lydia had given her feeling heavy against her skin. The whiskey was doing its work, blurring the edges of the world, making the firelight seem to pulse in time with her heartbeat.

​Caspian didn't move. He sat in the dark armchair, his head tilted back against the leather, his eyes closed. He looked like a man who had just been stripped bare in front of his own home.