CHAPTER 35 The Boy My Mother Called My Brother

CHAPTER 35

The Boy My Mother Called My Brother

“Miyaka?”

Moises's voice reached her, but she barely heard it.

She was staring at the wooden horse in her hand.

The inscription had already been wiped clean by her thumb, but the words remained burned into her mind.

ASK YOUR MOTHER ABOUT ELIAS.

Her mother.

The woman who had appeared in the tunnel.

The woman who had looked at Moises like she was afraid of what his return meant.

The woman who had told Miyaka she had seen something that night.

The woman who had disappeared before Miyaka could ask the questions that had haunted her for years.

And now there was this.

He's your brother.

Miyaka slowly looked up.

“Where is my mother?”

Nobody answered.

“Daniel.”

His expression tightened.

“I don't know.”

“You knew she survived.”

“Yes.”

“You knew she was in this place.”

“I knew she had been here.”

“And you never told me.”

“I couldn't.”

“You couldn't?”

Her voice cracked.

“Or you wouldn't?”

Daniel looked away.

Miyaka stepped toward him.

“For years, I thought my mother was dead.”

“I know.”

“I mourned her.”

“I know.”

“I stood beside a grave.”

“I know.”

“You watched me do that.”

Daniel's face changed.

“I was trying to keep you alive.”

Miyaka laughed bitterly.

“Everyone keeps saying that.”

She looked at Moises.

“Everyone.”

He didn't defend himself.

That somehow made it worse.

Miyaka turned back to Daniel.

“Tell me the truth.”

Daniel swallowed.

“I've told you what I know.”

“No.”

She held up the wooden horse.

“You've told me pieces.”

She stepped closer.

“You told me my mother survived. You told me my father was hiding something. You told me there were three families.”

Her voice became quieter.

“You told me about Elias.”

Daniel's eyes flickered.

“And now I remember my mother holding his hand.”

Daniel went completely still.

“You remember?”

“Yes.”

“What exactly?”

Miyaka closed her eyes.

The memory came again.

Rain.

Mud.

Her mother's trembling hands.

A little boy standing beside her.

Someone shouting.

Her father's voice.

Then her mother kneeling in front of Miyaka.

Her face wet with tears.

“Don't be afraid.”

Five-year-old Miyaka had looked at the boy.

“Who is he?”

Her mother had glanced behind her.

Then whispered—

“Your brother.”

Miyaka opened her eyes.

“I remember.”

Jason looked at her.

“You're sure?”

“Yes.”

Moises stepped closer.

“Miyaka…”

She turned toward him.

“Don't.”

He stopped.

“I need to think.”

“I know.”

“No.”

She shook her head.

“I need everyone to stop telling me what I should remember.”

Her eyes filled.

“I've spent years living with memories that weren't complete.”

She looked down at the horse.

“Let me have this one.”

Moises nodded.

“Okay.”

His voice was gentle.

No argument.

No attempt to fix it.

Just one word.

Miyaka looked away.

She hated how much that helped.

A distant metallic sound echoed through the tunnel.

Jason turned.

“We shouldn't stay here.”

Daniel nodded.

“He's right.”

Miyaka looked toward the staircase.

“Elias was shot.”

“We don't know if he was hit.”

“There was blood.”

Daniel's expression darkened.

“That doesn't mean it was his.”

Miyaka looked at him.

“How would you know?”

“I wouldn't.”

She studied his face.

“You're hiding something.”

“Yes.”

The honesty caught her off guard.

“What?”

Daniel looked toward the staircase.

“Something I promised your mother I would never tell you.”

Miyaka's heart sank.

“What promise?”

Daniel didn't answer immediately.

Then he said,

“She made me promise that if you ever remembered Elias, I would take you away from Moises.”

The words landed harder than she expected.

Moises went completely still.

Jason looked between them.

“Why?”

Daniel's eyes moved to Moises.

“Because she believed Moises was connected to what happened that night.”

Miyaka's stomach tightened.

“What does that mean?”

“It means she didn't know whether he was being used or whether he knew more than he said.”

Moises's jaw clenched.

“I was seventeen.”

“I know.”

“I didn't know anything.”

“I know.”

“Then why would she blame me?”

“She didn't.”

Daniel looked at Miyaka.

“She was afraid.”

“Of him?”

“Of everyone.”

Miyaka turned toward Moises.

He looked hurt.

Not angry.

That hurt more.

“You knew she didn't trust you.”

“I knew she was afraid of me.”

“Why?”

“Because when she saw me after all those years…”

He paused.

“She looked at me the way people look at someone carrying a weapon.”

Miyaka stared at him.

“Did she say anything?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

Moises looked down.

“She asked me if I remembered Elias.”

Miyaka's breath caught.

“When?”

“The day I returned.”

She stared at him.

“You never told me.”

“I didn't know if it mattered.”

“It matters now.”

“I know.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I didn't remember him.”

Miyaka's eyes narrowed.

“Was that true?”

Moises looked at her.

“Yes.”

Then, after a moment—

“I remembered him tonight.”

Silence.

Miyaka felt something twist inside her.

“You remembered because of the photograph?”

“No.”

He reached into his pocket.

He pulled out the black bracelet.

The one Elias had given him.

“I remembered because of this.”

He turned it over.

There was a tiny engraving on the inside.

Miyaka leaned closer.

A name.

Not Elias.

Not Moises.

Not Laurent.

It was a single word.

MATEO.

Miyaka's heart stopped.

“Mateo.”

Jason looked at Daniel.

“Do you know that name?”

Daniel's expression went pale.

“Yes.”

Miyaka looked at him.

“Who?”

Daniel hesitated.

Then—

“Mateo Reyes.”

Miyaka stared.

“That sounds like…”

“Your grandfather's name.”

Her fingers tightened around the wooden horse.

Jason frowned.

“That's impossible.”

Daniel nodded.

“Exactly.”

Moises looked at the bracelet.

“Then why would it be here?”

Daniel didn't answer.

Miyaka's mind raced.

Her grandfather.

The boy.

The three families.

The hidden room.

The photographs.

Her mother's disappearance.

Everything seemed to connect, but every answer only opened another question.

Then Jason suddenly picked up the photograph again.

“Wait.”

He held it closer to the light.

“What?”

“There are five people.”

Miyaka looked.

“No.”

Jason pointed.

“Look behind the tree.”

She moved closer.

At first, she saw nothing.

Then the light shifted.

A shadow appeared.

A person standing behind the mango tree.

Not Elias.

Not her father.

Not her mother.

Someone else.

Someone wearing the same ring.

The three-circle symbol.

Miyaka's stomach dropped.

“He was watching them.”

Jason nodded.

“But look at his hand.”

Miyaka stared.

The man was holding something.

A photograph.

Of the four children.

Taken from behind the tree.

Jason whispered,

“He wasn't taking the picture.”

Miyaka looked at him.

“What?”

“He already had one.”

The room went silent.

Miyaka suddenly understood.

The photographs weren't records of what happened.

They were copies.

Someone had been collecting them.

Watching the children.

Following them.

For years.

She looked at the boy again.

Elias.

The fourth child.

Her supposed brother.

And then she noticed something she hadn't seen before.

The boy wasn't looking at the camera.

He was looking at the person behind the tree.

Like he knew exactly who was watching them.

Like he was afraid of him.

Miyaka whispered,

“Elias wasn't the one watching us.”

Moises looked at the photograph.

“No.”

“He was running from someone too.”

Daniel closed his eyes.

“And now that someone knows you've remembered.”

A loud crash echoed from above.

Everyone froze.

Then came the sound of a door slamming.

Jason raised the flashlight.

“We need to move.”

Miyaka didn't move.

She stared at the photograph.

At the shadow.

At the ring.

Then she noticed something written on the back.

A sentence in her father's handwriting.

Her heart sank as she read it.

THE BOY IS NOT HER BROTHER.

Below it, another line had been scratched so deeply into the paper that it nearly tore through.

HE IS THE REASON SHE SURVIVED.

Miyaka looked up.

“What does that mean?”

No one answered.

Then, from somewhere above them, a woman's voice cried out.

“Miyaka!”

She knew that voice.

Her mother's.

And this time—

she wasn't calling for help.

She was warning her.

“RUN!”