“The haart,” Professor Linset crooned, “is a strange and rare creature. I doubt that you have ever seen one.” He stepped up to a large cage as he lectured. In its center was what seemed to be a ball made of solid black stone. “No other creature is as strong. And yet no other creature can break so easily. Would you like a demonstration?” 

Without waiting for an answer, he moved closer to the cage. He bent down, and when he stood he was holding a sword. “This,” he said, “is one of the most deadly weapons that can be made today.” He slid it through the bars, then slammed it down on the poor creature. The haart didn’t even seem to notice as the blade clanged off its skin. The professor hit it again, stabbed at it, smacked it. Finally, his point proven, he set the weapon aside. 

“This haart is strong. If it dies, it will be its own fault. Ah, ah, but we’ll get to that in a moment.” The man smiled and moved across the stage to another cage, this one covered by a large cloth. He pulled it free. The creature inside was small, white, and smooth. It looked almost like a snake, only it was wider, shorter. Friendlier. “And this,” Professor Linset said gleefully, “is a haart as well. It’s younger. And it has been perfectly sheltered. Never hurt. Never broken.”

In one smooth motion, he picked up the sword and slammed it through the cage, into the haart.

Deep crimson blood flowed from the wound as the animal collapsed, lifeless.

“A haart that has never been broken is weak,” the professor said coolly, admiring the red as it dripped from the steel. “But hurt one too often, and the haart will die just the same.” He gestured at the first cage. “That creature will never open. It will never allow itself to be vulnerable. And so it will not eat, and it will not drink. It will die of thirst because it cannot allow itself to become weak for even a moment.”

The professor spun on his heel, and for a moment it seemed as if he’d left. Then he returned, pushing a third cage.

“And this is a haart in its prime.” This creature was also curled into a ball. But it was not so deep a black. And as the professor crooned to it, it began to tremble less. He stroked its back gently, and it hesitantly unfurled. “A mother haart is cruel to its offspring. She cannot protect them, for if she does, they will never survive once they leave her care. And she cannot hurt them too much, for then they will die just the same. 

“She must teach them when to open, and when to close. They must learn who to let in, and who to keep out at all costs. If a young haart fails to learn, it will die.

“And do you know what the most deadly thing that can happen to a haart is? It can be tricked. Betrayed. An open haart is utterly vulnerable, and if it opens for the wrong person…” He spun, slamming the sword into the final cage. The gray haart inside became a splatter of blood. He set down the sword and slowly stepped towards his audience, lifting the head of the young man who was tied to a chair.

“I opened my heart to you, Dorian.”

Dorian didn’t answer. He looked up at the professor through bleary eyes, then spat at him.

Linset’s lip curled. “I’ve thought often of what I would do to you, when I found you.” Dorian glared at him. “If I could break your heart I would, but you’ve hardened it since I last saw you, and I am not patient enough to wait for it to starve on its own.”

“So?” Dorian spoke for the first time. His voice was flat and emotionless. “Get to the point.”

The professor’s eyes darkened. “I’ve been thinking,” he sneered, “that we ought to play a game.” 

Dorian’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.”

“There is _nothing _I wouldn’t do.”

“Even to me?”

_“Especially _to you.”

“I won’t play,” Dorian warned. “I’ll die first.”

“We’ll see,” the professor said. “You can be made to care.”

“Kill me,” Dorian demanded, straining against his ropes. He didn't seem to notice the way they dug into his skin. “Right here, right now.”

Linset raised a single eyebrow. “What’s this? My Dorian, begging?”

“I’m not begging,” Dorian growled. “And I’m _not _yours.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m not,” Dorian said. His eyes were cooler and sharper than the steel of the professor’s blade. “And you’re too cowardly to kill me.”

The professor surged forward in one smooth motion, knocking the chair backwards to the ground. Dorian grunted at the impact. 

“I’m no coward,” Linset breathed.

“Prove it.” Dorian’s eyes hadn’t softened. “Kill me.”

Linset didn’t answer, instead tipping the chair back up. It was a sturdy wooden thing and hadn’t even chipped at the fall onto hard stone. “Death would be too kind for you.”

“You’re scared,” Dorian snapped back, quick and sharp as a whip. “You can’t stand to watch me die.”

“Please.” Linset snorted. “If I thought death would hurt you, I’d run you through now. Brother.”

_“I’m not your—”_

“Don’t lie to me!” There was a pause as both men took furious breaths. “You know who you are.”

“I do.” Dorian was pulling harder now, his wrists beginning to bleed from the effort. Still, he was so blinded by anger that he couldn’t care about the pain. “And I was _never_ your brother.”

“Is that so?” Linset reached forward and dragged his finger around Dorian’s neck, following the deep scar of a noose that hadn’t quite finished its job. A scar that was mirrored around Linset’s own neck.

“My scars tell my story,” Dorian said, meeting Linset’s eyes. “But they do not define me, and never have.”

Linset scoffed. “You can’t escape your blood, Dori.”

Dorian could have kept yelling. Could have told his long-forgotten brother not to use that nickname. He wanted to. But he was tired. And as he’d said, he was through with games. “I already have. Lin.” Then he let his chin fall back onto his chest, his hair falling forward to conceal his face. Linset kept yelling for what must have been hours, but Dorian refused to reply, and eventually the young professor left, promising to return with pain he wouldn’t be able to ignore.

Dorian tried not to care, but if he was being honest with himself, he was terrified. Lin’s words haunted him far more than he wanted to admit. _A haart that has never been broken is weak. _But that didn’t make the breaking hurt any less. That hurt was the reason broken hearts were stronger; the scars, the calluses, the cruelty. It was how you stayed stronger than your opponent.

_I opened my heart to you, Dorian._

He had. He well and truly had. He’d only told the truth; Dorian deserved everything that Lin would do to him.

But he hadn’t lied either. 

He knew who he was.

And as terrible as his betrayals had been, they were justified.

Dorian shook his head softly, glancing at the broken bodies of the haarts before him. Justice was cruel. It was cold. He’d lived by its principles long enough to see what it could do to a person. It was not a kind path to follow, and for the briefest of moments, Dorian doubted. He’d known this course was foolish. He’d known it would be hard. 

But it had felt so _right. _

And just as he’d told Linset, he really had escaped his blood. He’d found a place where he was more than the scar around his neck. He’d found a family he chose. A family that would have helped him change, if these old people, these old strings, hadn’t started yanking on him.

So what now?

He was…

He was home.

He should have been dead, but of course Lin and the others would want vengeance. And although the Lin that Dorian knew and hated was often stupid, he was also one of the most intelligent men alive. If he wanted Dorian to hurt, Dorian would hurt.

_Idiot. If you’d just stayed away. If you’d just learned when to harden your heart. _

But Dorian hadn’t learned.

And when a young haart failed to learn, it died.

Dorian squeezed his eyes shut, cool certainty weighing on him. He was going to die. Oh, they’d stretch it out as long as they could. But they’d tire of him sooner or later. And they’d kill him or leave him to rot, it made no difference. 

Slowly, slowly, he grinned.

They thought their hearts were cold and unbreakable.

But Dorian understood things they could not imagine.

Where they saw steel, he saw glass.

And he intended to see it shatter, even if the shards that remained were sharp enough to slit his throat.