The taxi stopped downstairs.

I got out while holding onto the door for support. The cuts on the soles of my feet had already scabbed over, but every step still felt like walking on broken glass.

As I climbed the stairs, I heard laughter coming from inside the apartment.

Travis was there too. He sat in the center of the living room, holding up a gold trophy that gleamed harshly under the lights.

Dad stood beside him with one hand on his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.

I stood at the doorway, reeking of sweat, dirt, and stale river water.

No one noticed me.

Dad raised a can of beer toward the room.

"Come on, everyone, another toast to our champion Travis Shaw! Gold medal in the city junior division two-hundred-meter freestyle!

"I'm telling you, this kid was born for swimming. I trained him for years, added two extra hours every day, no breaks even during holidays."

Travis flashed a wide smile, showing off his bright white teeth.

"It's all thanks to Coach Lancer. Without him, I wouldn't be where I am today."

Dad waved a hand dismissively, laughing even louder.

"No, no, this boy earned it himself. Unlike some kids who just can't amount to anything."

His gaze swept over and finally landed on me, his brows knitting together.

"You're back. Perfect timing, congratulate Travis."

I stayed where I was without moving.

Travis turned and spotted me. The smile on his face twisted from smug pride into mockery. He lifted the trophy and waved it at me.

"I heard you went for some special training at Roaring Spine. So, how'd it go? Want me to teach you a few moves?"

Several students nearby burst into laughter.

A girl in red covered her mouth as she giggled. "River survival training? Oh my god, that's hilarious."

Dad did not stop them.

I took a step forward.

"Dad, Ian..."

But he cut me off immediately.

"I already know about Ian. The police told me. Maybe the kid got scared I'd punish him for not learning to swim and decided to hide somewhere.

"Besides, my son's not that easy to wash away."

I watched his mouth moving, his voice buzzing in my ears like flies.

Then my eyes drifted to the cake sitting on the coffee table.

Written in red icing were the words:

Congratulations Travis Shaw, the Champion.

Underneath was a smaller line:

Coach Lancer's Proud Student.

Proud student.

I stared at those words as heat burned behind my eyes.

Ian had never even eaten a real birthday cake before.

Whenever his birthday came around, Dad always said birthdays for children were pointless, just a waste of time.

One year, Ian wanted a little sponge cake. I secretly bought him a one-dollar piece from a street shop. He only took two bites before saving the rest for me.

"Dylan, when I grow up, I'll buy you a huge cake."

He never got the chance.

"Dad."

I called out again.

Dad was still chatting with Travis and did not even bother turning around.

"Dad, Ian isn't hiding. The police said he might've been swept downstream. They said... they might never find him."

The living room fell silent.

A few of the parents exchanged awkward glances.

Dad slowly turned toward me, his eyes cold as ice.

"Why are you bringing this up today of all days? Travis finally wins a championship, and you come in here acting like someone died."

My lips trembled.

"Dad... he's your son."

"I KNOW HE'S MY SON!"

Dad suddenly roared so loudly that the beer cans on the coffee table rattled.

"When I fell into the river back then, nobody stood around crying for me either! Strong people learn how to endure. Understand?"

He turned and pointed toward Ian's bedroom door.

"Look at the two of you. One more useless than the other.

"Couldn't even learn how to swim properly, and now you've got the nerve to stand here crying. Travis wins championships. What can you two win? Tears?"

I followed the direction of his finger.

Ian's bedroom door was closed.

The drawing he had taped there was still hanging crookedly on the wood.

Two little stick figures holding hands, with a heart drawn between them.

My tears finally fell.

I turned and yanked the door open.

Laughter erupted behind me, sharp as knives stabbing into my back.

The cuts on the soles of my feet made me limp badly. Every step down the staircase felt unsteady, the world swaying beneath me.

"Dylan!"

Travis chased after me.

He was still wearing swim trunks and slippers, clutching a half-eaten slice of cake in his hand.

"What are you running for? Your dad hasn't even assigned your punishment yet."

I kept walking.

He rushed down the stairs in a few quick strides, grabbed my shoulder, and yanked me back hard.

"I'm talking to you. Are you deaf?"

I slammed into the wall, the back of my head crashing against the metal fire hose cabinet with a loud clang that made my ears ring.

"Move."

Travis took another bite of cake, cream smeared across the corner of his mouth. The grin on his face made me sick.

"How do you talk to your father like that? He raised you all these years, didn't he?

"And look at you. You look like some trash collector off the street. Nothing like the son of a swimming coach–"

"You done?"

The smile vanished from Travis's face. He leaned in close enough for the sickly sweet smell of cream to hit my face.

"What the hell did you mean by that comment? 'Why wasn't the one swept away by the current you?' You were cursing me?"

I stared straight into his eyes.

"I wasn't cursing you. I just think the one who deserved to die wasn't my brother.

"It was you."

The punch landed before the last word finished leaving my mouth.

Blood burst from my nose, running over my lips and dripping onto the stairs.

Travis shook out his hand and stepped back.

"What the f*ck did you just say?"

I wiped my nose. The back of my hand came away covered in blood.

"I said the one who should've died was you."

Another punch. Then another.

I doubled over as acid surged up from my stomach.

Travis kicked me hard in the shoulder, sending me crashing into the stairwell landing. The back of my head slammed against the wall again.

"What are you, huh? A useless piece of sh*t who couldn't even survive a little river current, and you think you can talk back to me?"

I curled up on the ground, my mouth full of the metallic taste of blood.

Then my phone vibrated.

I fumbled it out.

A text message from the police.

[Dylan Shaw, we have located your younger brother downstream near Roaring Spine Dam.]

Travis was still yelling at me, but I could not hear him anymore.

I pushed myself up from the floor. I needed to find my brother.

But Travis blocked my path again.

"Did I say you could leave?"

I turned and punched him square in the face.

That punch carried every ounce of strength I had left.

From the corner of the second-floor stairwell came the sound of hurried footsteps.

Dad came charging down the stairs.

"Dylan! Stop right now!"

He caught up to me in a few strides and slapped me across the face.

This slap was harder than any before. My head smashed into the wall, my teeth cutting into the inside of my mouth as blood trickled from the corner of my lips.

"Who taught you to hit people?

"You think strong people solve problems with their fists?"

I laughed.

Blood slid into my mouth, salty and warm.

"You taught me that, Dad.

"Weren't you the one who said if someone blocks your path, you crush them?"

Dad froze for a moment.

From upstairs, Travis's voice rang out, trembling as if he were about to cry.

"Mr. Lancer, he punched my nose! I think he broke it–!"

Dad exploded with rage, pointing straight at me.

"Apologize to Travis right now!

"Get on your knees and apologize!"

I held myself upright with what little strength I had left, biting down hard on my lip.

"No.

"I won't apologize."

Dad raised his hand, ready to strike again.

Just then, a police officer in uniform walked up the stairs. Behind him were two others, one carrying a camera and another holding a case.

"Is Dylan Shaw's guardian here? We're from the Municipal Public Security Bureau.

"We discovered the body of a young boy on the riverbank downstream near Roaring Spine Dam. Based on physical characteristics and preliminary DNA matching, we have confirmed the deceased is your younger son, Ian Lancer.

"We need you and your family to come with us to identify the body."