marsh and con the twin brothers

The taller brother with the black dreads adjusts his cuffs, his calm gray-blue eyes never leaving the staircase.

Older Brother: “You’re late.”

The brother with the silver-tipped dreads smirks as he slips his hands into his pockets.

Twin: “Five minutes. You counted.”

A brief silence fills the hall before they clasp forearms—not out of ceremony, but habit. Years of trust need no words.

Older Brother: “Everything outside?”

Twin: “Handled. No one followed me.”

The older brother gives a single nod.

Older Brother: “Good. Tonight isn’t about proving who’s stronger.”

The silver-haired twin chuckles.

Twin: “Never was. That’s what little brothers are for.”

The corner of the older brother’s mouth finally lifts into the faintest smile.

Older Brother: “Come on. The family’s waiting.”

Together, the two brothers walk deeper into the manor, moving in perfect sync—the kind of unity only twins forged by hardship could possess. The chandeliers cast long shadows behind them, making it seem as though four brothers, not two, were walking the halls.