Trust was never given freely.
Not in Holloway.
And not by Damien Voss.
When the world turned its back on him—when his own father tried to bury him—there was only one man who stood by his side.
Ethan Graves.
His brother in all but blood. The one who pulled him from bar fights and battlefields. The one who swore loyalty when everyone else fled.
But betrayal always came wrapped in familiarity.
It wore a face you loved.
A voice you trusted.
And a name you never thought you'd curse.
A Silent Confession
The warehouse reeked of metal and mildew. Rusted chains hung from the rafters like nooses, and a single bulb swung overhead, painting the walls with restless shadows.
Damien stepped through the threshold, his boots echoing softly on the concrete floor.
Across from him stood Ethan.
Same posture. Same coat. Same damn eyes.
But something was different now.
Damien didn't stop until they were ten feet apart. The silence between them was so heavy it felt like it had mass.
"You came alone," Ethan said quietly.
Damien didn't smile. "Did you really think I would?"
Ethan looked away. "Guess not."
"You were always smarter than this," Damien said.
A pause.
"You found out," Ethan murmured.
"Of course I did."
The silence that followed wasn't peace. It was the sound of a friendship dying.
Damien's voice, when it came, was low and steady. "How long?"
Ethan's hands tightened at his sides. "Damien—"
"I said how long."
Ethan's throat moved. "Since Holloway burned."
Damien's jaw flexed. "The night they came for me."
Ethan flinched.
"I told one person where I'd be," Damien said, stepping forward, his words like blades. "One. Person."
"I didn't know they were going to—"
"Don't lie to me, Ethan."
"I didn't! I thought they'd scare you, drive you out, not—" Ethan stopped himself. The damage was done.
Damien's eyes darkened.
"You sold me out to men who buried people alive."
"I didn't sell you out! I—" Ethan's voice cracked. "I was trying to protect you. They said if I gave them something—some leverage—they'd let you walk away."
Damien stared at him, silent.
"Do you hear yourself?" he finally asked. "You handed me over like a bargaining chip. And now you want to talk protection?"
"I regretted it the second I did it. I've been living with that ever since."
Damien looked at him like he was something already dead. "Good."
The Test of Redemption
A long pause.
Then, with chilling calm, Damien reached into his coat.
Ethan tensed—eyes wide.
A gun?
Yes.
But Damien didn't raise it.
He offered it.
Held it out, grip first, arm steady.
Ethan stared at the silver pistol like it was a serpent. "What… what is this?"
"You want to make it right?" Damien asked. "Then do it."
Ethan didn't move.
"Damien…" he whispered.
Damien took a step closer, pressed the gun into Ethan's hand. "You say you're drowning in guilt," he said. "Let it pull you under."
Ethan's fingers slowly closed around the grip.
The weight of the weapon was crushing.
"You want me to kill myself?" he asked, voice barely above a breath.
Damien didn't blink. "I want you to choose."
"Choose what?"
"Whether you live with this…" Damien said, "…or die for it."
Ethan's knees almost buckled. "You gave me a loaded gun. Did you ever consider I might use it on you?"
"I counted on it," Damien replied.
Ethan looked up, his breath ragged. "Is that what you want? For me to prove I'm still a threat so you can justify pulling the trigger?"
Damien's voice was a whisper now. "I don't need justification, Ethan. Just a reason."
A Friend or a Weapon
Ethan's hand trembled. The muzzle dipped. Rose again.
The room spun.
"This isn't you," he said. "You're not this cold."
Damien's eyes were dead still. "You never knew me. Not really."
"I did," Ethan said, voice cracking. "I knew you when you had nothing. When you were trying to build a future, not destroy one."
"And you helped burn it down."
Ethan looked down at the gun in his hand. "You think this makes us even?"
Damien said nothing.
"Or are you just waiting to see if I still have enough hate left to shoot you in the back?"
Damien's reply came like thunder in the calm.
"I'm waiting to see if you have enough honor left to do the right thing."
Ethan shut his eyes. The weight of everything—regret, betrayal, history—crushed him.
The gun was shaking in his hands now.
"Damien…"
"One last chance, Ethan," Damien said. "Choose."
Seconds passed.
Agonizing.
Then—
A shot shattered the silence.
The echo thundered through the warehouse, ringing in the stillness like a bell tolling for the dead.
What Remains
A body dropped.
The gun clattered to the floor.
The bulb above flickered wildly, then stilled.
Smoke curled upward in lazy tendrils.
Damien stood motionless.
Expression unreadable.
Then he stepped forward—slowly, almost cautiously.
And as the haze cleared…
Ethan was alive.
Kneeling.
The bullet buried in the concrete, far from either man.
Tears streamed down his face.
"I couldn't do it," Ethan whispered.
"I wouldn't."
Damien looked down at him. His face gave nothing away.
"You chose to live with it," he said.
Ethan nodded slowly.
Damien reached down, picked up the gun, and tucked it away.
"You're no longer my brother," he said.
"But maybe you can still be useful."
He turned and walked away, leaving Ethan alone in the dim light, a man broken but breathing.
The past was dead.
But Damien Voss?
He was just getting started.