Something broke inside me.

  Something literally broke—a wall, a barrier, a dam. I felt it snap with an almost audible crack as Dad hummed the lullaby.

  The pressure that had been pinning me to the floor vanished.

  I scrambled to my feet, kitchen tiles slick with my sister's blood.

  I lunged at him.

  The movement surprised even me. One second I was in a pool of my sister's blood, the next I was hurling myself across the kitchen with every ounce of strength I'd built lifting crates at the docks.

  Dad sidestepped it casually, like avoiding a puddle on a rainy day. My fist sailed past his face, momentum carrying me into the refrigerator. Magnets scattered, a family photograph fluttering to the blood-soaked floor.

  "Fischer," he said with genuine disappointment. "This is pointless."

  I spun and charged again, blind with rage. He moved like water, flowing around my attack without seeming to move at all. His expression remained gentle, patient—the same look he'd worn when teaching me to tie my shoes.

  "I understand you're upset," he continued, voice steady as I staggered past him. "This is a natural response."

  I snarled like a mad dog. "You fucking ate her!"

  Dad sighed, the sound so normal it made my skin crawl.

  I swung wildly at him. Dad caught my wrist without apparent effort, his fingers gentle but immovable as steel.

  "You're thinking like a mundane human," he explained, as if this were just another morning lesson.

  "Let. Me. Go." Each word forced through clenched teeth.

  "Of course." He released my wrist.

  "You're insane," I whispered.

  Dad shook his head, eyes warm with genuine affection

  He turned his back on me, moving to the sink to continue washing his hands. Blood swirled down the drain, pink against the stainless steel.

  "I’m making pancakes," he repeated, reaching for a mixing bowl.

  I charged again, fists clenched. Dad didn't even bother turning around.

  "Fischer, please. This is becoming tedious."

  I feinted with my left, then drove my right fist toward his kidney.

  To my shock, it connected. Dad grunted, a small sound of surprise more than pain.

  Then his hand closed around my fist, still buried in his side. Bones crunched. Pain exploded up my arm as he slowly, methodically crushed my knuckles like overripe fruit.

  "Now that’s a punch I can be proud of," he said, turning to face me with genuine warmth in his eyes. "You're strong, Fish. Your physical development is excellent. The Sacred Signal will have tremendous material to work with when your Infection comes."

  He lifted me by my broken hand, my feet dangling above the kitchen floor as casually as he might pick up a grocery bag.

  "I love you," he said, and the worst part was I could tell he meant it.

  Then he threw me.

  The world blurred. Kitchen wall, family photos, plaster, wiring—I crashed through it all like tissue paper. The neighboring apartment's living room materialized around me in fragments: beige couch, coffee table, startled elderly couple frozen mid-breakfast.

  I hit their dining table at roughly the speed of a car crash, shattering it into kindling before slamming into the far wall hard enough to crack concrete.

  My body made a sound like a bag of wet cement hitting the pavement.

  I lay there, broken and gasping, as Dad stepped calmly through the hole my body had created. He nodded politely to our neighbors.

  "I apologize for the intrusion. A minor family disagreement."

  The old couple stared, speechless. Dad approached, kneeling beside my crumpled form.

  "Let’s stop this Fish, there really is no point to continue," he gently, brushing hair from my face. "You will end up injured beyond repair, if we continue."

  He stood, straightening his shirt with a precise gesture, then turned back to the elderly couple.

  "Have a pleasant morning." He smiled warmly.

  Then he walked back through the hole, leaving me broken on the floor of the stranger's apartment.

  The old woman found her voice first. "Are... are you all right, young man?"

  Blood bubbled from my lips as I tried to laugh. The sound came out as a wet gurgle.

  "He killed my sister," I managed. "Ate her... right… in front of me…"

  The elderly couple exchanged glances.

  "I'll call an ambulance," the man said, reaching for his phone.

  "No." The word came out sharper than I intended.

  The old woman approached cautiously, offering a trembling hand. "You need help, dear. You're badly hurt."

  I tried to move, to prove her wrong, but my body wouldn't cooperate. Pain flared from everywhere at once—broken ribs, shattered hand, dislocated shoulder, probably internal bleeding. The room swam around me, darkness creeping at the edges of my vision.

  "Please," I whispered, unsure what I was even asking for.

  The old woman knelt beside me, her wrinkled hand cool against my forehead. "Hush now. Whoever hurt you, they're gone. You're safe here."

  "No," I gasped. "Not safe... Not anywhere..."

  "Was it a Sacred?" the old man asked, phone still in hand. "Should we call the SDC?"

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  I tried to shake my head, but even that small movement sent agony lancing through my neck.

  "My father…" I managed.

  The darkness at the edges of my vision expanded, consuming everything. The last thing I saw was the old woman's face, lined with concern and fear.

  "Hang on, dear. Just hang on."

  Then nothing.

  I dreamed of worms.

  Thousands of them, millions, squirming beneath my skin, replacing muscle and bone. They whispered to me in Rell's voice, telling me secrets I couldn't quite understand. About Origins. About consumption. About power.

  In the dream, I opened my mouth to scream, but worms poured out instead, bone-white and writhing. They formed patterns on the floor, spelling words in a language I almost recognized.

  Vermis Incarnate.

  Dad's voice, somewhere in the darkness: "You'll understand when you're ready, Fish."

  I tried to run, but my legs dissolved into wriggling masses. I tried to fight, but my fists were colonies of segmented bodies. I tried to scream again, and the worms just kept coming, endless, unstoppable.

  Then Rell was there, but not Rell—a silver outline, a ghost made of mist. Her marionettes danced around her like tiny satellites.

  "He didn't get all of me," dream-Rell whispered. "I fragmented myself. I hid pieces. In you."

  "Help me," I tried to say, but worms filled my mouth, crawled down my throat.

  "I can't," she said sadly.

  She reached out, touched my chest. Pain exploded outward, and the worms went wild, frenetic, consuming me from the inside out until there was nothing left of Fischer—only a writhing mass of bone-white worms in roughly human shape.

  "See?" dream-Rell said. "You were never what you thought you were."

  The worms that had been my eyes turned toward her, seeing her in ways I never could before. Not just her form, but her essence, her origin, the fragments she'd left behind.

  "Can you feel it?" she asked. "The Sacred Signal. It's been calling you for years."

  The worms opened a mouth in what had been my face, thousands of them forming lips, teeth, tongue.

  "How do I kill him?" the worm-me asked.

  Dream-Rell smiled sadly.

  She began dissolving, silver mist scattering like dandelion seeds. "The Trial is coming, Fish."

  "Don't leave me," the worm-me begged.

  "I never will," her voice echoed as she faded entirely. "Pieces of me are in you now."

  The worms collapsed, losing human shape, becoming a writhing pile on the dream-floor. They began to burrow, digging through reality itself, seeking something in the depths.

  I followed them down, down, into darkness.

  I woke to the steady beep-beep-beep of medical equipment.

  I tried to move. Bad idea.

  Pain lanced through me—ribs, arm, head, places I didn't know could hurt. The ceiling above was white, pockmarked with water stains. That one looked like a screaming face. Fitting.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  I tried to bring my hand up to rub my eyes. Something clinked against metal. Looking down, I saw my left wrist handcuffed to the bed rail.

  Well, shit.

  The room came into focus.

  SDC Medical Facility—I recognized the blue-gray walls and the emblem painted above the door. I'd visited once when a dock worker got his arm crushed. I hadn't expected to become a patient.

  A plastic water cup sat on the side table, just out of reach. Of course.

  My throat felt like I'd swallowed razor blades. How long had I been here? The last thing I remembered was—

  Rell. Dad. The blood.

  Nausea hit me like a freight train.

  I jerked against the handcuff, trying to reach the small basin beside the bed. Pain exploded through my chest. Broken ribs. Definitely broken ribs. I managed to twist just enough to avoid choking on my own vomit as it splashed onto the floor.

  The door opened as I was spitting the last bitter remnants from my mouth.

  A nurse entered—she was a middle-aged woman. She looked at the puddle of vomit, then at me, expression unchanging.

  "You're awake." She stated the obvious while checking the monitors.

  "How long?" My voice sounded like a paint bucket dragged across concrete.

  "You have been unconscious for three days." She adjusted something on my IV without meeting my eyes. "Don't move too much. You had significant internal bleeding. Four broken ribs. Collapsed lung. Fractured orbital socket. Broken hand. Concussion."

  She recited my injuries like a shopping list.

  "My sister," I croaked.

  The nurse's hands paused for just a fraction of a second before continuing their work. "I'll inform Inspector Hoffman you're conscious."

  "Please," I tried again, "my sister—"

  "Inspector Hoffman will be with you shortly." She left without looking at me once, stepping carefully around the vomit puddle.

  The door clicked shut behind her.

  Three days. I'd been unconscious for three days.

  I yanked at the handcuff again, metal biting into my wrist. The pain in my chest flared so intensely that black spots danced in my vision. I forced myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Not too deep—that hurt like hell.

  Twenty minutes later, the door opened again.

  Inspector Hoffman entered, looking exactly as she had in our apartment. She carried a tablet and a small recording device.

  "Mr. Magni," she said, setting the recorder on the table beside my bed. "I'm glad to see you're stable."

  I stared at her. "Where's my sister?"

  Hoffman tapped her tablet, bringing up some document. "I'm here to inform you of the charges against you."

  "Charges?" The word felt disconnected, meaningless.

  "Fischer Magni, you are under arrest for the murder of Marrell Magni."

  The room seemed to tilt sideways. The beeping of the heart monitor accelerated.

  "What?" I whispered.

  Hoffman's face remained impassive. "Three days ago at approximately 0730 hours, you attacked your sister in your family home. According to witness testimony, you became violent after she returned from her Trial. You expressed jealousy regarding her newly manifested Origin abilities and, in a rage, physically assaulted her."

  "No." The word came out as barely a breath. "No, that's not—"

  "Your father attempted to intervene," Hoffman continued as if I hadn't spoken, "at which point you attacked him as well. You then proceeded to throw your sister through the apartment wall with such force that her internal organs were catastrophically damaged. She died at the scene."

  "He's lying." I struggled to sit up, ignoring the searing pain. "He's the one who killed her. He—he ate her. He consumed her. His Origin—"

  "Mr. Mikkel Magni has provided a full statement," Hoffman cut in. "As have your neighbors, who witnessed you crashing through their wall in a violent rage after throwing your sister through it."

  I froze.

  The elderly couple. They'd seemed so concerned, so kind.

  "They saw me injured," I said. "They saw what he did to me."

  "They saw you injured after your father defended himself and your sister from your attack. Mr. Magni has a well-documented Origin—The Shepherd. It's a cultivation and enhancement ability. He has no capacity for the... consumption you're describing."

  My mind raced. "Check the apartment. Check her body. She was—" My voice broke. "She was torn apart."

  "The scene has been thoroughly investigated. What was left of your sister's body showed trauma consistent with being thrown through a reinforced wall, resulting in massive internal injuries and blood loss."

  "That's not what happened," I insisted, voice rising despite the pain in my chest. "He told us everything. He planned it. He waited until her Origin to manifest, and then he—"

  "Mr. Magni," Hoffman interrupted, "your father is a respected researcher with decades of service to the community. You are an unawakened dock worker with a history of expressing envy toward Sacred abilities. The evidence is clear."

  "Evidence he manufactured!" I yanked at the handcuff again, metal clanging against the rail. The heart monitor beeped frantically. "He set me up. He planned this whole thing."

  Hoffman watched me dispassionately. "You'll be transferred to an SDC holding facility tomorrow morning pending sentencing. A medical Sacred will continue your treatment there."

  I slumped back against the pillows, the fight momentarily draining out of me. "He really thought of everything, didn't he?"

  For the first time, something like uncertainty flickered across Hoffman’s face. "Excuse me?"

  "My father. The perfect crime." I stared at the ceiling, at that water stain that looked like a screaming face. "Tell me something, Inspector. Did he cry when he gave his statement? Did he talk about how much he loved us both? How shocked he was at my jealousy? How he tried to reason with me before I snapped?"

  Hoffman's silence was answer enough.

  I laughed, a hollow sound that sent pain knifing through my ribs. "And you believed him. Of course you did. Everyone always believes him."

  "Mr. Magni—"

  The silence stretched between us, broken only by the steady beep of the heart monitor.

  Finally, Hoffman spoke. "The transfer team will collect you at 0800 hours tomorrow."

  She gathered her tablet and recorder, then paused at the door. "For what it's worth, Mr. Magni, I am sorry for your loss."

  The door closed behind her with a soft click.

  I lay there, staring at that water stain on the ceiling. The screaming face seemed to mock me now.

  I closed my eyes, and behind my eyelids I saw Rell's face as Dad pulled her toward those spinning teeth. Heard her scream my name as I lay pinned to the floor, useless. I felt that strange breaking inside me just moments too late to save her.

  Something wet slid down my cheek. I didn't bother wiping it away.

  The worms from my dream whispered to me, bone-white and writhing. The Trial is coming, Fish.

  I didn't know what that meant. I didn't know if it was just my broken mind trying to make sense of trauma, or something more.

  But I knew one thing with absolute clarity.

  I was going to kill my father.

  For Rell.

  The heart monitor's beeping slowed, steadied. My breathing evened out.

  I closed my eyes and listened to the worms whisper.