Semua Bab STEP BROTHER DEAREST: Bab 51 - Bab 60

Chapter 51The library reeked of smoke and ash.The maps were gone. The catalogues, the diagrams, the painstaking notes that had once given us the illusion of control—all reduced to curling black scraps in the metal bin. Madison hadn’t flinched as she lit them, hadn’t looked away as the flames consumed the hours and scars of our survival.But now the silence afterward hung heavy. No more plans. No more scaffolding to hold us upright. Just the void.Ian broke it first. “So. Chaos. Where do we start?”I leaned back in the chair, staring at the soot-stained bin. “By making sure he doesn’t recognize us anymore.”Madison tilted her head, her eyes sharp. “Explain.”“He’s mapped every predictable thing about us—our caution, our reliance on patterns, even our hesitations. So we strip those away. We stop reacting. We stop moving where he expects. We become something he can’t mirror.”Ian scoffed. “You make it sound simple. Chaos isn’t a plan—it’s suicide.”Madison’s voice was low, steady. “Not

Chapter 53We had one night to prepare.The city stretched before us like a chessboard, but every piece was broken, half-burned, or rusting. Our library maps were covered in fresh symbols, each circle, spiral, and arrow representing not a trap—but a lie.Ian hated every second of it.“You’re asking me to set bait that doesn’t bite,” he muttered, chalk grinding against his palm as he drew another spiral onto the map. “Every instinct I’ve got says we should *hurt* him when he steps wrong, not teach him a bedtime story.”“That’s exactly why it’ll work,” I said, leaning over the table. “He expects force. He expects consequence. We give him patterns instead—patterns that point him in the wrong direction.”Madison nodded, her pencil flying across her notebook. “Controlled ambiguity. Enough to trigger his hesitation, but never consistent enough to reveal the real lesson.”Ian’s scowl deepened. “So we’re lying to a liar. Great. That always ends well.”Still, when the time came, he strapped on

Chapter 55The rain came down in sheets, drowning the city in silver. The streets were slick with reflections of neon signs and fractured lamps, making the entire landscape feel like a labyrinth of mirrors.We hadn’t planned to move that night. After the erasure in the garage, our nerves were frayed, our strategy under scrutiny. But waiting felt like surrender, and none of us could stand the weight of it.Madison’s maps lay sprawled across the table, wet at the edges from a spilled cup of water she hadn’t even noticed. Ian was pacing, muttering to himself, his boots leaving muddy tracks on the library floor.Finally, I said it: “We go tonight. One more test.”Ian stopped, looking at me like I’d voiced his own thought. Madison, though, froze. “Tonight? After what happened in the garage? That’s insane.”But even as she protested, her eyes darted back to the maps. Searching. Calculating. Fighting herself.“We can’t pause,” Ian said, his voice sharp. “Every second we wait, he recalculates

Chapter 57The night was almost unnaturally still. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath as we moved through the abandoned docks on the river’s edge.Madison led, her silhouette sharp against the dim glow of the distant city. She wasn’t just scanning for him—she was scanning for everything: shadows, reflections, subtle movements, anything that could signal his presence.Ian followed a few steps behind, silent except for the occasional crunch of broken concrete under his boots. His hand hovered near the knife at his belt, but not in the way of a predator—more like a dancer waiting for a cue.I stayed last, eyes trained on the space between us, aware of every instinct screaming in my chest. The air smelled of rain-soaked metal and decay. Every breath felt electric, charged with anticipation.This wasn’t about traps or mirrors tonight. This was about instinct. About being human. About trusting each other enough to act without hesitation.---We had learned from the ruins: the stepbroth

Chapter 59The city felt hollow that night, as if it had been waiting for something to break. Broken streetlights cast pools of dim, yellow light across cracked sidewalks. Puddles reflected fragmented images of buildings, like distorted mirrors of ourselves. Every step we took sounded too loud, too deliberate.Madison led the way, scanning the horizon with binoculars, her movements precise but calm. Ian followed closely, knife gripped loosely, eyes flicking to every shadow. I brought up the rear, heart pounding, every instinct on edge.We didn’t speak. Words felt unnecessary; everything communicated through movement, glances, and the rhythm of our breathing. We had learned that speaking could betray intent, even unintentionally. Tonight, we relied on instinct.---The stepbrother had noticed our change. He was waiting, somewhere in the darkness, already anticipating our moves. We could feel it—not consciously, but in the pull of tension that ran through the air. Every instinct screame