Aster's hands trembled as he sat there, the room suffocating in its silence. Celeste and Andrew's words still rang in his head, each syllable carving itself into his mind.
Jaxon believes you got the life he was supposed to have.
You weren't locked in that compound. You weren't trained from childhood to be a killer. You weren't forced to become a weapon.
But he was.
Aster squeezed his eyes shut.
Jaxon's voice echoed in his skull, venomous, raw.
"You look just like him."
The first time Jaxon had said those words, Aster hadn't understood. It had been after a fight, bruises fresh on both of them, blood trickling down Aster's split lip. Jaxon had stood over him, fists clenched, breathing hard, his expression twisted in something close to rage—something close to hatred.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Aster had spat, wiping his mouth.
Jaxon's glare burned through him.
"You look like your dad." His voice had been cold. "I hate looking at you."
Aster had laughed bitterly, wiping at the blood on his chin. "We have the same father, you know."
That had been the wrong thing to say.
Because the second the words left his mouth—Jaxon's fist collided with his jaw.
Aster had barely had time to react before the next punch came, harder, sharper. His skull slammed against the pavement, his ears ringing.
Jaxon had stood over him, breathing hard, his knuckles bloodied. "No," he'd hissed. "You're nothing like me."
Aster blinked, the memory burning bright behind his eyelids.
He had never understood Jaxon's hatred. He had assumed it was because of Westwood—because Aster had been raised by the man Collaway hated. But now, with the truth laid bare before him, it all made sense.
Jaxon didn't just see Collaway when he looked at Aster.
He saw every single thing that had been taken from him.
Aster inhaled shakily. He had spent years despising Jaxon, fighting him, cursing his name. But now…
Now, there was something else sitting beneath his rage.
Something close to understanding.
Something close to guilt.
Because Jaxon had suffered. Alone.
And Aster had never even known.
---
Memories That Never Faded
Aster's mind spun, past and present colliding.
The fights. The beatings. The way Jaxon's attacks had always been fueled by something deeper than just violence.
The way he always hit Aster just a little harder than necessary.
The way his words had always cut like knives.
"You don't deserve this life."
"You should've been in that cage, not me."
"You're weak. Because you never had to fight to survive."
And Aster—young, angry, and ignorant—had thrown it all back at him.
"That's not my fault."
He had never realized how much that sentence had shattered Jaxon.
Because in Jaxon's eyes, it was his fault. Aster had been free. Jaxon had not.
And now…
Now Jaxon was trying to take his revenge in the only way he knew how.
Aster exhaled, his fingers curling into his palms.
I never knew.
But now he did.
And he had no idea what to do with that.