Zachili.

Hating my brother ended a year after my disappearance, when I was taught that to become an assassin, I had to let go of any feelings. Including hate.

Meeting him again convinced me that I was right not to hate him. I studied him carefully.

His nervous brows.

His timid lashes.

His avoiding eyes.

His sealed lips.

And his relentless sweat.

He has truly changed from the ten-year-old boy he was twenty years ago—the boy who continuously rang in my ears that our father cared more for ...