Ian cherished his brother more than he could ever put into words. After all, he was the only blood relative he had left in this world — the last fragile thread tying him to something pure. Though Ian was never one for sentiment, he had devoted himself to raising his brother the best way he could. He poured everything into him — time, money, energy, hope — determined to give him the kind of childhood he never had. The smell of freshly brewed coffee lingered in their small apartment, a rare comfort from their turbulent lives. He wanted to build a wall between his brother and the darkness he himself had been consumed by. He refused to let him fall into the same pit.

While Ian served time behind bars, his brother had been under TJ’s watch. The cold steel of prison bars still haunted Ian's dreams sometimes. Later, insisting on independence, his brother moved out and started working — not wanting, as he put it, to live off a gangster’s dirty money. Ian respected that decision, though it left an ache in his chest. He’d raised him to be honest, even if life around them was anything but.

When Ian was released, he imagined he’d finally get time with his brother again. The sound of their laughter echoing through the apartment. Shared dinners at their favorite diner downtown. Maybe even some kind of redemption. But his brother seemed distant, guarded — like he was slipping through Ian's fingers. And Ian, with the instincts of a man who’d seen too much darkness, felt that familiar twist in his gut. Something was very wrong.