Chapter 13 - Shadows from the Ash
Julian pulled his phone out slowly, his thumb sliding across the screen to unlock it while keeping his eyes fixed on Marcus. The text message consisted of a single image file and a short, chilling caption: Some fires never really go out, Julian. You thought you left it all behind in the ashes.
Julian’s blood ran ice cold. He recognized the image instantly—it wasn't just any old photo of the garage fire; it was a picture taken from across the street on the exact night the building burned down ten years ago, showing a figure standing in the shadows watching the flames consume everything Marcus and he had built. A figure that wasn't Marcus, and wasn't Julian.
For a decade, they had both carried the guilt of that fire, each blaming the other for the carelessness that supposedly destroyed their family legacy. Marcus had stayed behind to pick up the pieces, enduring the debt, the gossip, and the endless backbreaking labor, while Julian had fled, carrying a burning resentment. But looking at the timestamp and the hidden angle of the photo, the horrifying truth began to dawn on Julian like a physical blow: the fire hadn't been an accident. It had been arson.
""Julian? Is everything alright?"" Clara asked softly, stepping into the room and noticing the ashen, horrified expression frozen on her brother's face. She had never seen Julian look genuinely terrified, not even when they were kids facing their father's wrath.
Julian quickly locked the phone screen and shoved it deep into his leather jacket, shaking his head. ""It's nothing. Just... spam. Wrong number.""
Clara crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes with characteristic skepticism. ""You don't look like someone receiving spam, Julian. You look like you've just seen a ghost.""
""I said it's fine, Clara,"" Julian snapped, his voice carrying a sharper edge than intended. He glanced down at Leo, who was still gently stroking Marcus’s hand, completely unaware of the dark storm gathering outside the hospital walls.
Julian stepped out into the hallway, pulling the door half-shut so the boy wouldn't overhear. He dialed the number back immediately, his heart hammering against his ribs. The call connected instantly, but there was no voice on the other end—only the faint, rhythmic sound of heavy breathing and the unmistakable crackle of an old vinyl record playing in the background.
""Who is this?"" Julian demanded into the receiver, his voice dropping into a harsh, dangerous growl. ""If this is some kind of sick joke, I swear to God I will find you.""
A low, gravelly chuckle echoed through the phone speaker. ""You always were too quick to swing your fists before using your head, Julian. Just like the night of the fire. You left your brother to take the fall for a debt he didn't create. Wonder how he'd feel knowing you ran away while someone else burned his life to the ground.""
The line went dead with a sharp, abrupt tone.
Julian lowered the phone slowly, his hand trembling slightly. The anger that flooded his veins wasn't directed at Marcus anymore; it was directed outward, toward the unseen enemy who had stolen a decade of brotherhood from them.
He looked back through the glass window of Room 312. Marcus was lying there, fighting for every breath, completely vulnerable. And outside, whoever had sent that message was watching.
Julian knew what he had to do. He couldn't protect his brother from inside a hospital waiting room forever. He needed answers, and he needed to find out who had burned their past to the ground before they came back to finish the job.
He walked back inside, kneeling down beside Leo, who looked up with trusting eyes.
""Buddy,"" Julian said softly, his voice gentle. ""I need to step out for a little while to take care of something very important for your dad. Will you stay here with Aunt Clara? I promise I'll be back before your dad wakes up.""
Leo hesitated, his little lower lip trembling, but he nodded slowly. ""Promise?""
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""I promise,"" Julian said, sealing it with a firm nod.
He stood up, gave Clara a hard, uncompromising look that brooked no argument, and turned on his heel, walking out of the hospital into the freezing rain.
