Es’s father didn’t answer imdiately. Instead, he walked to the side, his steps slow, almost burdened. Then, without a word, he opened a small wooden drawer built into the wall and pulled out a folded, worn cloth—wrapped tightly, like it had been untouched for years.
He walked back and laid it gently on the table. The silence thickened as he unwrapped it, revealing an old tal pendant—shaped like a crescent moon with a small crack through the center—and a paper so yellowed with ti it looked like it would disintegrate if touched wrong.
"That’s the last thing Robin left behind," he said quietly. "It’s a mark... of defiance."
Ray stared at the pendant, sothing about it digging into his mory—like a whisper from a dream he didn’t know he had.
"What do you an?"
"He left the organization, Ray. Not long after your birth. He faked his death in a mission, burned his own file, and disappeared. No one knows where he went. Not even ."
Ray blinked.
"He what...?"
"He made the one move they never expected," his father continued, voice trembling with sothing between pride and pain. "He ran. Not as a coward—but as a father. To protect you. To protect all of you."
Ray’s eyes burned. He stared at the pendant, a single tear slipping down before he could stop it. He quickly wiped it away, trying to steady his breathing.
"But if he left... why didn’t he co back? Why didn’t he ever co for us?"
Es’s father looked away for a long mont before answering.
"It’s not that Robin didn’t love you," he began, his voice low, rough with the scrape of years carried on his back. "Or that he cared more about the organization. No... it was never that."
His eyes t Ray’s, then Es’s, lingering just long enough to let the truth settle like dust on still water.
"He loved you too much," he said, softly now. "So much, it scared him."
He let out a breath, almost a sigh, as if even speaking the words was peeling back an old scar.
"We were raised like dogs, you know. Loyal, obedient, trained to never question the hand that fed us. You could say we were their creations—every mory, every lesson, every scar etched into our minds, all tethered back to them. We didn’t have parents. We had orders. No childhoods. Just missions. No nas. Just code."
He paused, the silence hanging heavy between them.
"And yet... when I t Gina," he turned to look at his wife, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips, "sothing broke. I told her everything. I didn’t lie. I couldn’t."
"But Robin..." His eyes clouded. "He was different."
He looked back at the children, gaze sharp but vulnerable.
"Robin was always afraid. Not of dying. Not of missions. But of betraying everything he was made to believe. First the organization, then your mother. He thought that loving her while hiding his past ant mocking her love. That the truth would make him a monster in her eyes."
He clenched his jaw, fists tightening.
"Robin was second only to in the organization. He was the best. Fastest, smartest, most efficient. And that’s the cruel part—because the better you were, the deeper the chains they put around your soul."
A bitter smile played on his lips. "And the worst part? The organization didn’t treat us badly. We had food. We had books. We were taught art, languages, music, dicine. It was a ho, in the most twisted sense of the word. So when Robin found out he was pregnant..."
His voice cracked, and for the first ti, he looked... tired.
"...he broke."
A quiet breath trembled past his lips.
"The thought of a life growing inside him—it wasn’t joy he felt first. It was terror. What if the child had the beast’s power? What if the organization found out? What if the child was taken? Experinted on? Used?"
His hand ran across his face, rubbing at a tear that never quite fell.
He turned to look at Es. His gaze lingered, heavy and filled with unshed regrets. When he finally spoke again, his voice cracked.
"I’m sorry, my child," he said quietly. "I never ant to drag you into this... but I did."
The words lingered like smoke in the air. Then—
"What the hell do you an you put her in danger?"
Ray’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. It was sharp, sudden, and laced with confusion. His eyes darted from Es’s father to her mother, then finally landed on Es.
But Es... she wouldn’t look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the floor, her hands curled into fists by her sides.
Sothing was wrong. Very wrong.
Ray took a step forward, anger building beneath his disbelief.
"You called them here, Es. You arranged this eting. So why didn’t you contact us? Why didn’t you say a damn word?"
Still, she said nothing. Her silence was louder than any scream.
And then—glass shattered.
A loud crash ripped through the room as Ryan, who had been silent all this ti, threw a glass across the room. It struck the wall just inches from Es’s face.
Everyone froze. The tension snapped like a taut string.
But Es didn’t flinch. She didn’t blink. She just stood there, staring at the floor, as if the sound never reached her.
Ryan stood, his eyes bloodshot, hands clenched at his sides. He looked at her like a man on the edge of breaking.
"I’m asking you once," he growled, his voice shaking with restrained fury. "Just once. Tell us everything. No lies. No skipping details. Everything."
Es finally looked up, and what they saw wasn’t fear. It was sorrow. Deep, bottomless sorrow.
Her lips parted, and her voice was soft, almost fragile.
"This..." she began, "might be the last ti you see ."
The world seed to hold its breath.
Ray’s heart skipped. Ryan’s expression faltered. Her parents looked away, as if they couldn’t bear to see what was coming.
Es turned slightly, her eyes drifting to the nearby room where the children lay asleep, blissfully unaware.
"When they wake up... please remove everything. Every photo. Every trace of . Don’t let them rember I was ever their mother."
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