Chapter 13
Victor remained outside command.
No men.
No performances.
No Blackthorne.
No access to my children.
Months passed.
Then he requested a meeting.
I agreed.
He looked older without a role.
Not physically.
Identity stripped down.
“I thought you’d exile me.”
“That would be easier.”
“For who?”
“Both of us.”
He nodded.
Good.
“What do you want?”
“To explain.”
“Explain or excuse?”
He almost smiled.
“Explain.”
Victor had spent his entire life being the second useful man.
Never boss.
Never heir.
Always trainer.
Fixer.
The one trusted to harden younger men.
Blackthorne would have made that identity permanent.
Milo would eventually need him.
At least, that was the fantasy.
“I wanted somebody important to need what I knew.”
There.
Honest.
“You chose a four-year-old.”
His face tightened.
“I know.”
“You could have trained adult soldiers.”
“They already have opinions.”
I almost laughed.
There it was.
A child is easier to shape.
Victor heard himself.
Looked ashamed.
Good.
“You didn’t want a student.”
“No.”
He stared at the floor.
“I wanted proof my life had produced something.”
That I understood more than I wanted.
Legacy.
The respectable name ambition gives fear of insignificance.
“What now?”
He looked at me.
“I teach nobody.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“That’s another extreme.”
He frowned.
“You may have useful knowledge.”
Pause.
“You just don’t get to decide another person owes you transformation.”
Silence.
He nodded slowly.
No authority returned.
But later I allowed him to supervise adult recruits under Matteo.
Adults.
Voluntary.
Able to leave.
May you like
Victor hated being supervised.
Useful.
