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Kill sits beside me on the bed, his shoulder to mine as he stares at the large window overlooking the garden. “Do you really resemble me more than you resemble Dad?” “Dad told you?” “Yeah. But Grandpa hinted at it several years back. He said something like ‘Remember, you always have your brother. You’re more alike than you realize.’ I thought he was trying to build some stupid brotherly shit. I never thought it was because he knows you better than anyone else does.” “He helped cover up murder for me.” He tilts his head in my direction, his eyes lighting up. “How did it feel?” I lift a shoulder. “Euphoric, but only for a few minutes, though. Then it was just…the void again.” “Is that…why you never killed again? Because the void came back so fast?” There’s a strange deepness to his voice, an eagerness almost. This is the side I share with Killian. If he hadn’t been such an outward person who loved advertising his neurodivergence, I would’ve been more comfortable talking to him. It’s not