“What has Myron ever done to wrong you? For three years he bent over backward for you. What more do you want?”

The guests piled on instantly.

“Ms. Sanchez has the patience of a saint, keeping a man like that around this long.”

“Exactly. Country trash with a rotten heart.”

“I heard he kept insects in the house. Gives you the creeps. Mr. Henson putting up with him this long is a miracle in itself.”

I stood where I was. The cold crept into my fingertips one joint at a time.

My brother never mentioned any of this in his letters.

All he ever wrote was：Stay warm when the weather turns, and stop running barefoot into the mountains.

Stop killing people. Stop piling up sins. Save some grace for yourself.

I shifted my ears toward the service corridor, where two servers were whispering with their heads together.

“Hey, you see him? That's the first husband.”

“Yeah. Poor bastard. I heard last winter they ripped every last hair off his head. Nearly took the scalp with it.”

“Wasn't that his own fault? The butler said he stole one of Mr. Henson's watches and tried to put a hex on him.”

“Stole my ass. A friend of mine works for the Sanchez household. Said they found that watch in Mr. Henson's own closet later. Pinned it on the husband anyway……”

The other one hissed a quick “shh”.

“Keep it down. You want to get fired? Last time a housekeeper stood up for him, she was gone the next morning.”

My eyelid twitched.

Every hair ripped out.

The watch.

The housekeeper, fired.

None of it was in my brother's letters.

Naomi took my silence for fear. Her tone sharpened.

“Apologize to Myron. Now.”

“Then drag that coffin out of here. You're dirtying the venue.”

She paused, then added in a lower voice, like tossing a coin to a beggar.

“For the sake of having once been married, I can pretend today never happened.”

For the sake of having once been married.

I looked at her and wondered how she could say those words without choking on them.

That was when the Natal Hex-insect inside my sleeve pulsed warm.

A faint residual trace of my brother's hex energy, reacting to something.

I followed the thread of that weak pull and turned my gaze toward the groom's dressing room on the second floor.

The door was half open.

Through the gap, a young maid was being dragged by the hair, sobbing and begging：

“It wasn't me who let Lloyd out of the basement! I followed your orders. I never brought him food or water, not once. I don't know how he got out!”

Then Myron's male assistant let out a cold laugh：

“Then explain how he got from the basement to the wedding to cause a scene.”

“Mr. Henson told you to starve him to death!”

The crying upstairs cut off. All that was left was a single dull “smack”, like a body hitting the floor.

The maid was innocent.

My brother never made it out of that basement alive.

Only a corpse, carried home to the Southern Highlands by a kind Corpse Courier.

I stood at the bottom of the stairs, the blood in my veins pulling tighter inch by inch.

Naomi didn't notice. She was too busy straightening Myron's boutonniere, impatient, waving me along.

“Lloyd.”

“I'm telling you one last time. Apologize.”

I lifted my eyes slowly and fixed them on Myron, shielded behind her.

He was watching me over Naomi's shoulder. A flicker of triumph in his eyes, not quite hidden in time, quick as a snake's tongue darting and gone.

And then I understood why my brother refused to let me come, right up until the end.

Not because he was afraid I'd suffer.

Because he was afraid that if I saw all this, I wouldn't be able to stop myself from turning this place into a real funeral.

Myron let go of Naomi's hand, smoothed the front of his suit, and walked toward me.

His eyes were rimmed red.

“Lloyd, stop making a scene, okay?”

“Today's a big day for me and Naomi. Just apologize and we can put all of this behind us.”

He reached out and took hold of my wrist as he spoke.

On the surface, it looked like a friendly gesture. Underneath, his nails dug into my flesh.

I didn't move.

He leaned in close to my ear, that smile still plastered across his face, but his voice turned slick and cold.

“What's the matter? Ten days in the basement wasn't enough?”

“I gave the order myself. No water, no food. You're tougher than I thought.”

“Those ten fingers of yours should've been ruined a long time ago. You got lucky in the freezer. Should've frozen to death.”

“Still, it was worth it. Watching you crawl on the floor, clawing at the door like a dog. What a sight.”

My knuckles tightened, one joint at a time. Veins rose across the backs of my hands.

The hex-insects inside my sleeve writhed, burning hot against my skin.

Myron looked up at me, savoring my rage like a man admiring a painting.

“You've resented me all this time, haven't you?”

“But what can you do about it? Naomi said it herself. When you misbehave, you need to be taught a lesson.”

When he finished, he reached up and straightened my collar for me, the intimacy of the gesture revolting.

“Lloyd, just accept it. Naomi stopped loving you a long time ago.”

“Get on your knees and apologize now, and I might let you keep breathing.”

He paused, and the venom in his voice thickened.

“Or have you forgotten? You still have a little brother back in the Southern Highlands.”

“If you don't behave, I'll send men down there to drag him back. Skin him alive right in front of you.”

“How many cuts do you think that scrawny little body of his can take?”

My gaze snapped up to his face.

Myron had clearly never set foot in the Southern Highlands.

Otherwise he would have heard the name Stanley Manning.

Everyone within a hundred miles knew those two words were a nightmare.

How dare he. How dare he use me to threaten my brother.

Myron thought he'd found my weak spot. His smile widened, dripping with triumph.

Then, in the span of a heartbeat, he stepped back half a pace. Tears sprang to his eyes on command, and his voice pitched high for the crowd.

“Lloyd, I was just trying to calm you down. Why are you glaring at me like that……”

“Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry. Please, I'm the one who should apologize.”

Naomi was at his side in an instant, shielding him, her eyes fixed on me like daggers.

“Lloyd! Myron already backed down. What more do you want?”

“Are you not going to stop until you've pushed him over the edge?”

I stood where I was. Said nothing.

The fire in my chest burned so hot it could have eaten through every organ I had.

Slowly, I reached behind my back and drew out an ebony flute.

The wood was old, worn smooth by years. A faded red thread was tied around the tail end.

My brother had tied it there himself.

Naomi blinked, then let out a cold laugh.

“Not this parlor-trick nonsense again——”

She never finished the sentence.

The first note of the flute tore through the air.

A long, low wail——

The crystal chandelier overhead gave a single, faint shudder.

Inside one of the flower baskets lining the red carpet, a black beetle the size of a thumbnail crawled over the rim.

Then a second. Then a third.

After that, every crack between the floor tiles, every shadowed base of every pillar, every vent grate in every wall began to hiss and rustle.

At first, the guests didn't register what was happening.

Then someone looked down and saw a dense, crawling line of insects climbing up the side of their shoe, and the scream ripped out of them.

“Bugs! There are bugs everywhere!”

“Oh God——run!”

The hall erupted into chaos.

Chairs toppled. Glasses shattered. People clawed over each other to reach the doors.

And then the hex-insects surged out in a black tide.

Some had thin, veined wings. Some bore crimson abdomens. Others were bone-white from head to tail, save for their jet-black mouthparts.

They piled over one another in a roiling wave, pouring along the red carpet straight toward the ceremonial stage.

The color drained from Naomi's face. Her first instinct was to pull Myron behind her.

“Guards! Take him down!”

The bodyguards barely made it two steps before the swarm engulfed their legs.

Screams ripped through the hall.

They clawed and slapped at themselves in a frenzy, trousers shredded to ribbons, skin already stippled with blood that spread into wide crimson patches in seconds.

Myron finally stopped smiling.

He stumbled backward, clutching his wedding suit, voice shaking.

“Lloyd! You've lost your mind! Make them stop!”

I lowered the flute and looked up at him.

“You're so good at teaching people their place, aren't you?”

“Today it's your turn to learn.”