When Abel let loose, Jacob flinched back into his seat. Instincts were already starting to fire off at every corner of his brain to get to safety, but somewhere deep inside struggled against those instincts and rooted Jacob to the spot. Abel was angry, but he was also scared and Jacob did not like that one bit.

Unfortunately for him, Jacob never even heard the end of his brother's heartfelt admission. It was as if someone had pulled the plug, or the record needle slipped and started to skip. One thing kept repeating over and over in his mind until it was lost in a stormy sea of powerful impressions: Romulus. Words ceased to have meaning, sound disappeared into vacuum, colors hid inside the fading light, movement faded into a still swamp. Everything had retreated.

Sea salt on the air. Greenery lit up by the summer sun. Surrounded by wealth, owned as property. Comfort. Slow-building dread. Hope. Companionship. There was nothing concrete, absolutely no solid impression to cling upon, just thought and identity washing over him like the sea at high tide soon to fall back into low. Where he sat in an upscale hotel somewhere in Mobile, Alabama, Jacob merely stared in Abel's direction, eyes completely unfocused and breaths coming in steady, but lightly-wheezing pants while his body began to list to the side. Whatever combination of forces he was subject to had apparently made the perfect recipe for Jacob to fall right into his own mind with no warning of the imminent implosion.