“It’s not a work trip.”
I frown, unease creeping up my spine.
“What’s going on?” I press. “Does this have something to do with why Ma and Da are fighting?”
Sean sighs.
“I wish I had more time,” he says. “Time to explain things properly. Time to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye?” I say in confusion. “What the fuck are you talking about, mate?”
Sean squares his shoulders and turns to face me.
There’s resignation in his eyes.
It scares the fuck out of me.
“I’m leaving, little brother.”
I laugh. “Leaving? Where? Got a hot date?”
“I’ll figure it out when I get to the airport,” he says seriously.
“I’m waiting for the punchline.”
“You forget, little brother,” Sean says sadly. “You’re the one with the sense of humor.”
I can practically feel the blood drain out of my face.
“You’re serious about this?” I ask. “You’re really leaving?”
“Yes.”
He doesn’t so much as blink when he replies. It feels so fucking huge, so fucking weighty for so small a word.
“Sean,” I say. “Why?”
“Why?” he repeats. “Cillian, you know why.”
Do I?
Do I know why he’s leaving?
My mind tries to search back through the years, but I keep hitting dead ends. So I settle instead on the walk back to the mansion this afternoon.
I saw the desperation in his eyes. I’d noticed the look. The one that told me he was trapped.
Trapped by circumstance. By guilt. By the overwhelming intensity of the role that was thrust onto him years ago when he was just a thought. Just an idea. Not even born yet.
I’d seen it when he’d told me how many people he had killed over the years.
But I’d ignored it all.
I’d explained it away. Laughed it off.
“Is this about what happened with Padraig?” I ask. “It was an accident, Sean. It happens.”
“Yes and no,” Sean says. “It is about that. And at the same time, it’s about so much more.”