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Robin woke up to another note on his windowsill. He simply stared at it, torn between the two sides of his heart. One side that begged him, screamed at him to open it, to read it, to see what he could do to help. That side threw every encounter with drunk white boys that loved to mock his small eyes at him. Every memory of Canton and the time he never got to spend there. Every conversation with Professor Lovell, his father only in blood. But the other side beckoned him with its little finger, ensconcing him in a blanket of comfort that promised of an easy life. A life that never would have happened to him. A good life. The letter remained untouched.
Three weeks later, Robin stood before the Twisted Root. He had come to face his reckoning.
Today this ends
That was the only thought in his head and he slowly pushes open the door to the oh so familiar sight of his brother sitting on a chair. Griffin's eyes imperceptibly looked up and his body tensed dramatically upon seeing Robin. Robin froze in the doorway for a heartbeat too long, feeling the weight of everything unspoken between them.
"You came," Griffin huffs.
"Of course I did."
The silence that followed was heavier than any argument. Neither moved. But then Griffin released a breath he seemed to have been holding in for a while.
"I thought you would choose the easy path."
"I thought I would too."
Griffin's eyes narrowed at that and Robin could see him visibly preparing himself to reply. He decided to interrupt him before Griffin said something irreversible.
"Griffin..I can't do this anymore. I just can't. This is not the revolution I was promised. It's just a group of people running around playing at trying to take down an empire that they know is unstoppable. I see where your plans are going. I see how they will hurt innocent people. I cannot, in good conscience, support this any longer."
"Innocent people?" Griffin’s voice was sharp, almost bitter. "There’s no such thing anymore. Not in Canton. Not in Babel. Not anywhere the empire touches. You have no idea what we do and don't pretend to know. Don't pretend as if you've been fighting for liberation in the streets. You've been nice and cosy in your library while you study for tests that mean nothing.”
"There’s a line, Griffin. And you, you've crossed it.”
Griffin shook his head slowly, almost sadly. “You think restraint makes you better. It doesn’t. It just lets someone else pay the cost. A cost that you won't be there to witness."
For a moment, Griffin said nothing. He just looked at him, that sharp, brilliant gaze Robin remembered from the old days, the one that once made him feel seen. “I met you after I learned the truth,” Griffin said quietly, almost like a confession. “Not before.”
"I don't care about your bloody truth! I care about what we do. I care about the change what we have the potential to make. But you, you're out of control. You can't see the consequences that you will create. You don't see how you will doom all of us."
"That’s why you never could follow me. That’s why you’ll always choose the world over people. You always need it to be redeemable, even when it isn’t. What I am doing isn't right. But it will bring about change. Unimaginable change.”
Robin flinched at this but held his ground, hoping to hit with this point. "You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be human.”
Griffin’s eyes flickered, a shadow of pain crossing his face. “And you’ve forgotten what it takes to win.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. Robin could feel the distance between them stretch wider than the room could hold. Finally, he exhaled, hands trembling but resolve firm. “I won’t let this happen. I won’t let you destroy everything for the sake of your war.”
Griffin’s lips pressed into a thin line. He looked at Robin, longer than was comfortable, and then slowly, deliberately, he stepped back.
“Then we are finished. One way or another,” he said, voice soft, almost mournful.
Robin watched as his brother turned and walked away. He wanted to call out for him, to scream at him to come back. Yet he didn't. The air was heavy with unspoken words. All there to do was.. leave.