Brandon was fuming; every vein within him was out. His hands trembled. So much was happening, and his mind was a jigsaw puzzle. He had spent years trying to connect the dots. Days had gone by with him crying himself to sleep and asking questions that never got answers, and today it all felt like some sick joke.
"What wrong did I do? In what way did I offend you?" he demanded, but their father stood quiet. He was like a rock, his face unreadable, with no remorse or feelings. Brandon launched forward and punched him hard.
The old man staggered behind, blood peeped out from the corner of his jaw, and he lazily wiped it away. He suddenly looked old; maybe it was age or something, but Brandon did not care. He wanted answers. He wanted to know why he was made to live like an orphan.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" Claude suddenly asked, with the gun still aimed at Kabir and Brandon. He looked tired; his hands barely held the dangerous object properly, but he wouldn't let go.
