The Broker
The fireflies trapped in the glass compartment
wink at me, their tiny bodies flickering like mischievous stars—though, of
course, they aren’t stars. But the way they dance? Almost
poetic.
Their glow is soft, delicate, like a thousand
whispered secrets spilling into the dusk. And secrets? Oh, I’m practically a
vault—though the Mistress would probably call me more of a leaky sieve.
I crouch low, more shadow than person, barely a
breath in the dark. My father sleeps soundly below me, his face slack,
peaceful. My blade rests against his throat—cold, too cold. One press. One
slice. Done. Easy.
The weight in my chest presses deeper—thick,
heavy, impossible to ignore. is why the Mistress says I’m useless.
Dead weight. A liability. And yet... I’m still here. Still hesitating.
I tilt my head, watching the slow, steady rise of
his chest. It’s almost hypnotic—like waves lapping against the shore, in and
out, grounding me when I should be gone. I should feel rage. Betrayal.
Something sharp enough to cut through this fog.
But instead? I feel hollow.
right? This was supposed to be
my moment—the cold, clean act that proves my loyalty to the Mistress.
And yet, here I sit, blade in hand, trapped in the middle of a personal crisis.
I pull the blade back, just slightly. He doesn’t
stir. Not a flinch. He still trusts me.
That burns more than I want to admit.
Doesn’t he know what I am? What I’m supposed
to do?
But then it hits me—the part I can’t shake—why
does the relief taste so damn sweet?
“You’re supposed to hate him,” I mutter, lacing
the words with mock drama. “You’re supposed to end this.”
Yet here I am, stuck in this strange, calm peace.
The kind that settles deep, makes you question everything. The kind that
whispers—
would be a twist.
Nay, a cruel joke.
I feel him stir—slow and heavy, like a bear
crawling out of hibernation. A low groan vibrates through the air, and then...
With a flick of my wrist, the dagger vanishes
into its hidden sheath, snug inside the sleeve of my onesie hoodie. Clever,
right? I cross my legs, yawn wide, and stretch like the one waking
up—arms overhead, all innocent and cozy. Who, me? Perched on top of my dad with
a blade at his throat?
“Son of a—!” he spits, jerking awake, eyes
squinting at the dim light. “Like a damn hound in the pig pen!”
I blink. No clue what that means.
But Yeah, we had that yesterday. Now I want bacon.
“Ember… sweetheart.” His voice softens, sliding
into that tone. “You really gotta stop sleeping on top of me. I mean
it. Honey, seriously—”
He groans, shoving me off as he rubs at his face,
sleep still clinging to him. “Personal boundaries, kiddo.”
Cute. Like he respects mine.
I’m close to rolling my eyes into another dimension.
“You know, some people actually like their
space,” he adds, all fatherly wisdom and zero self-awareness.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Yeah, well, some people also don’t trust their
half-demon kids. Ever heard of patricide? Basic demon 101.
“Listen.” He rakes a hand through his hair,
already onto the next thing. “After breakfast, I need you to grab more ore for
the schematics I’m working on.”
“Mr. Spuds found a fresh vein—iron. We need it
yesterday. The cavern’s deep, so congrats, you’re on mining duty.”
I stretch again, all drama. “Rocks. Wow. Living
the dream.”
He grunts—either ignoring the sarcasm or too
tired to fight it. “Get to it, kiddo. And this time.
We’ve got work to do.”
But the second his back’s turned, my smirk
blooms, sharp and smug.
Oh, Daddy... if only you
knew. Hauling rocks? Yeah, that’s not happening.
I edge toward the lake's edge, the water still
and calm—cool, quiet, almost unnervingly perfect. The air smells of damp earth,
like secrets buried deep beneath the soil. My toes brush slick stones, cold and
smooth, as though nature couldn’t be bothered to greet me warmly. The lake
hums, a quiet tug, tempting me to dive in and discover its hidden secrets.
Figures. Even the lake’s got trust issues.
I crouch, steady my breath, and——I’m
in. The cold hits like a slap, sharp and unrelenting, wrapping around me and
dragging me deeper. The world above blurs into a smear of silver, sounds
swallowed by the water’s silence. Down here, it's just me, the pressure
squeezing in on my chest, like it knows something I don’t.
I skim my fingers across slimy rocks, algae
brushing my skin like ghostly fingers. I kick harder, pushing deeper. The water
grows colder, thicker, like the lake’s warning me.
Not happening.
My fingers scrape jagged rock. There it is—the
entrance. It gapes in the lakebed like a shadowy wound, dark and inviting. The
water thickens around me, resisting, like it knows what I’m after. I shove
forward, slipping under the ledge, diving into the cave’s waiting mouth.
Regret? Maybe. But no turning back now. The
pressure tightens, wrapping me in cold coils, dragging me deeper. Darkness
surrounds me, a thick, suffocating blanket that silences the world. My breath
comes fast and ragged, my fingers finding rough, sharp stone—guiding me deeper
into the unknown.
The lake’s behind me now, its silence replaced by
something heavier. The shadows here twist unnaturally, stretching like they
know too much. My pulse pounds in my throat, a steady beat against the cave’s
quiet.
Then—movement.
A figure steps from behind a cluster of jagged
stalagmites. Hooded, face hidden beneath fabric as black as a midnight storm.
“It’s about damn time you showed up,” the figure
growls, voice sharp with impatience. “What, your daddy got you on a leash
again?”
I grin, water dripping from my chin. “Family
first. But hey, I’m here now.”
He doesn’t answer. Just watches me. His silence
cuts through the air, sharp, like a blade hovering over my skin. I wait, trying
to make sense of him. There’s something unnerving about how still he
stands—solid, unshakable, like the stone walls around us. This isn’t a man you
mess with.
I break the silence first. "So… what should
I call you?"
His voice breaks through the quiet, smooth and
cold, as though he’s been waiting for me to ask.
"Come on, love. You should know better than
to ask for names. They’re burdens, things we nameless folk are better off
without." He slaps his forehead like he’s just had a revelation.
"Right, though... you’re not one of the nameless anymore, are you? Ember,
was it?"
I scowl. “If looks could kill…”
He whistles, unfazed. "Fine. Call me the
Broker." He bows like he’s giving me a gift.
The words hang there, heavy, thick with something
I can’t quite place. A challenge? A warning? The way he says it—the weight of
those few syllables—makes the blood in my veins slow.
"And what exactly does the Broker
broker?" I ask, letting mock curiosity bleed into my voice. This whole
thing feels like a joke. A weird one.
He doesn’t laugh. Not even a flicker of
amusement. Instead, from beneath his cloak, he pulls out a small, delicate bag,
pale blue and heavy. The sound it makes is unsettling—soft, like it holds
secrets.
"Well," he drawls, his voice flat,
"Ain’t it painfully obvious?" He shakes the bag, and the sound echoes
like the ticking of a clock running out of time. "Watch. Learn.
Report."
I raise an eyebrow, eyeing the bag like it might
bite. “What did you say?”
"Watch. Learn. Report."
“Stop that.”
“Watch. Learn. Report.”
I growl, frustration bubbling up. “Stop. Saying.
That.”
"Whoa!" He laughs, the sound too loud,
too close for comfort. "Sorry, love. Am I getting under your skin?"
I stand taller, crossing my arms, locking my gaze
with his. "No."
He tilts his head, just slightly, a barely-there
smile—sneer, maybe? His voice drops, dripping with mockery.
"Alright..." He flicks his wrist and the bag sails through the air
toward me. "Go on, then. Get to it."
"Or… what?" I challenge, standing my
ground.
His eyes gleam, that smile turning into something
sharper, more dangerous. "Love, you should already know the answer to
that."