“You’re bad men,” he said, not accusing, just stating a fact he believed as firmly as gravity. “My mom’s boyfriend says men like you make people disappear.”
The words hit the table like a dropped plate.
One of my brothers inhaled sharply. Another swore under his breath.
I should have corrected him right there, should have told him the world was more complicated than that, but before I could, the boy stepped closer, close enough that I could see the healing split in his lip and the faint hand-shaped bruises blooming along his neck.
“Can you do it for me?” he whispered.
I frowned. “Do what, son?”
His voice cracked completely then, like a branch under too much snow.
“Can you kill me?”
The diner didn’t just go quiet.
It emptied.
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