I saw you start that fire,
he said, before he could fully think. It was better that way, because there was really no point in dressing it up now. Maybe there was an accusation in his voice; there had to be. The knowledge was something he had carried with him for months, and the betrayal cut him deeper than he would ever admit. Arkham had always wanted to believe in people, and he so he had believed in Gabriel. He liked to believe that the reason his brother must have had was a reasonable and logic one, but the longer he thought about it, the less balanced any explanation became. He still wanted to believe, but even optimists had limits. Even children had limits.
He sat on the ground and looked up at his brother, waiting for the explanation he had wanted since April. For the moment, his dead father was at the back of his mind where the emptiness was. When this was over, perhaps Gabriel would join him there in that place full of things he thought he wanted to move on from and forget about. Life was all about moving on, wasn't it.