"Reece Hepburn was a Sergeant in the Beaumont Marine Corps., serving for a little less than a decade before retiring to take care of his mother. I have met him personally several times, and I must admit our encounters were a little less than friendly." He cleared his throat. "He was spotted gathering the ghetto's people and he's already started causing mayhem."

"Seems like Doctor Jay got caught up in Reece's rioting and paid the price," Cecile muttered, his eyes glancing to me. I refrained from creasing my brow as he continued. "Has Reece touched anything beyond the walls?"

"It's physically impossible for him to do that," Father said unworried. "But, we can't contain its coverage since it's so closely tied with Doctor Jay's death. That is where we come in. Eradicating our own people is not something I wish to resort to, so we need to attack them emotionally. If we show them that the Beaumonts are willing to unite in face of potential insurrection, I believe it will crush the possible... wandering thoughts of others."

"You want us to make an announcement or something?" Palmer asked in a bored tone.

"No," Sieg replied, "he wants us to take personal action, each of us to play a part in hindering Reece's actions." He looked at Father expectantly. "That is correct, yes?"

"Precisely." Father placed his bear paws for hands together. "I want you to use your Gifts to show them what they are up against. We can tolerate individual conflicts, especially if any casualties are results of one's own foolishness, but we cannot ignore uprisings. If pursued, they become declarations of war against one's own country, which will force us to destroy the ghetto along with its inhabitants."

He's seeking an awfully pacific route about this, I thought, almost as if there's a particular reason he doesn't want to destroy the ghetto. He's done worse for less substantial reasons to less important subjects... Hell, he's even called the Ruler Sent by Satan because of his violent tendencies.

I looked at Cecile, attempting to read through his mask of intellectual poise. Do you suspect anything, brother? Surely you must...

"Very well," Sieg said, resting his elbows on his knees. "Do you have an itinerary for this scheme or do we act as we please?"

"I've no particular orders to give, I believe your honest actions will convey the message more than a telegraphed retaliation. All I ask is that you make your actions known to the public."

"As if we could avoid that," Phoebe said with her head in her hand. "Our popularity only grows."

"Yeah, no thanks to you and your fashion line," Palmer struck back. Phoebe pouted at the comment but Sieg rose to his feet before she could respond.

He turned to Father and bowed, us following suit. "Excuse us, Father."

Father put up a hand of dismissal, and we went for the door. Me, being the youngest, naturally fell in the back of the line, as if the order of our births dictated even minor physical events.

Before I could reach the door, Father said, "Izaac, a moment please."

Nodding at the guards to close the doors, I remained tense as Father stood from his chair, regarding me with his analytical orbs in the way a scientist would look at a recently created specimen, observing its behavior in order to record its results. 

"How are you feeling?" he asked. I knew he was talking about my Gift. 

"Good," I answered bluntly. "I feel fine."

"The Gifts are a generational treasure for the Beaumonts, Izaac, but they are not of our comprehension so we must do all we can to make sure to avoid... complications."

"Have my siblings had issues with their Gifts?"

Father's lips tightened for a moment before speaking. "No, they have not."

"What about others, like my ancestors?"

"Look, Izaac," Father diverted with a sigh, "I've just noticed you haven't exactly been utilizing your Gift since you've obtained it. I was just wondering if you were struggling to access it."

"It's only been three days," I rationalized. 

"Your siblings used their Gifts the next morning after receiving them," Father countered. 

"I just think my Gift isn't anything special," I told him. "It's likely that it's so minor I simply haven't noticed it yet, or perhaps I'm a late bloomer. Who knows?"

Father flinched at my words, though I pretended to ignore it by gazing off into the courtyard through the window. Something was eating at him, but I didn't know what. Our relationship was never solid, and the times we spoke we typically disagreed; even so, it was odd to see Father so uptight. He wasn't like this with my older siblings... It wasn't right.