Page 157 of Psycho Pack

The queen hesitates, pain etched in the lines of her face. "Your father... the king... he's gone, Hamsa. He died shortly after you disappeared."

Oh, fuck.

Plague goes very still. For a moment, I'm not sure he's even breathing. "How?" he asks, the word barely audible.

"A heart attack," Revi says gently. "It was quick. He didn't suffer."

I watch the conflict war across Plague's face. Relief, guilt, anger. All flashing by in rapid succession before settling into a mask of careful blankness.

"I see," he says, his voice oddly flat as he reaches for his wineglass. "What about Azarel? He should be here, too, shouldn't he? Or… is he…?"

The awkward glance Revi and the queen exchange makes my stomach clench. Plague notices too, his knuckles whitening around his glass.

"He's not dead," Revi says quickly. "At least... we hope not."

Plague just stares. "What does that mean?"

The queen sighs heavily, suddenly looking every one of her years. Revi moves to her side, helping her settle more comfortably in her chair. The tenderness in the gesture catches me off guard.

"Your brother went on a mission several years ago," the queen explains, her voice tinged with worry. "He infiltrated the ranks in Reinmich to keep an eye on the threat most likely to invade Surhiira in the future."

"Keeping our friends close and our enemies closer," Revi adds, his lips twisting in a wry smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

Plague's face pales. "Did you know I was alive and working for the military?" he asks softly.

"No," the queen murmurs. "Until we received the news when you reached our train, we had assumed the worst."

Guilt churns in my chest, though I know it's not my burden to bear. I can only imagine what Plague must be feeling.

His face is an impartial mask as usual, but there's something else there. A slight downward curve of his lips I'd probably miss if I didn't know him as well as I do by now, but it's gone in an instant.

"We lost touch with Azarel relatively recently," Revi continues, his voice tight with worry. "We haven't heard from him in months. We're... concerned."

Plague's jaw works as he processes this information. I can see the gears turning in his head, probably already formulating plans and contingencies.

It's what he does best, after all.

"We need to extract him," he says firmly. "We have contacts, resources. We could?—"

"It's not that simple," Revi interrupts, shaking his head. "We can't risk exposing our intelligence network. And our military isn't equipped for that kind of operation. We've maintained our isolation for a reason."

Plague's eyes narrow. "So you're just going to leave him there? Our brother?"

"Of course not," the queen interjects, her voice sharp. "We're exploring all options. But we must be cautious. The safety of Surhiira?—"

"To hell with the safety of Surhiira!" Plague snaps, his careful control finally cracking. "What good is all this," he gestures at the opulent dining hall, "if we can't even protect our own? If we can't do anything about the omegas that are being kidnapped and tortured?"

A tense silence falls over the table. I hold my breath, waiting for the explosion. But to my surprise, the queen speaks first, her voice soft and concerned.

"What is this about omegas?"

The queen's words hang in the air, heavy with concern. I can see the muscles in Plague's temple ticking as he struggles to find the right words. I want to reach out to him, to offer some kind of comfort or support, but I'm frozen in place.

This isn't my story to tell.

And yet, in a way, it is.

It's all of our stories, woven together by circumstance and cruelty.