I've always thought my ancestors knew what they were doing when they built the family home. There was something about the way voices echoed and shimmered against the polished walls that must have been intentional. If my ancestors were anything like my father, they weren't just aware of the way voices carried in this space. They had masterminded it. They wanted my father's bursts of anger to resonate in the walls, coming from all directions at once as it diced away at the rest of the family's resistance.
It was certainly not the highest on the list of evil things that my family had done behind closed doors, but it wasn't lost on me. Even though no one seemed to believe the intention behind the echoing, I knew the truth.
Everything in this family was planned. Everything.
Bits of spittle flew from Dad's mouth as he shouted, catching the light where it streamed in the window. There was something almost beautiful about it, the way it showered down on the meticulously prepared family dinner before us. No one was eating, anyway. There was no loss.
I almost jumped out of my skin when Dad grabbed my arm and shook me roughly out of my daze. The disjointed bits of reality filtered in around me—the piece of quail on my fork, the chill of the evening air, Dad's painful grip on my bicep, and my two siblings on the other side of the table, one watching me as the other pretended to not notice the exchange. I swallowed slowly as Dad finally let me go, demanding whether I was even listening.
"I'm listening."
"Then answer me when I'm talking to you."
I nodded reflectively. "Okay."
"Excuse me?"
"Yes, Dad."
He scoffed. For the first time since the house staff brought out dinner, silence nervously settled over the table. Without Dad's voice bouncing angrily off the walls, it was eerily quiet. The one room in the home without any of the founder's new tech could get suffocatingly silent. After only a few moments, though, Dad stood, the legs of his chairs whining loudly across the polished stone floor. Everyone knew better than to look up at him as he stormed off, his nice shoes slapping out into the foyer and toward his wing of the estate.
My shoulders fell with a whoosh of relief as I glanced toward my siblings. Jae-ah, too, visibly relaxed as soon as he was gone, and even Yun couldn't hide the change in his demeanor. For a minute or so, we sat in silence.
Finally, I set my fork down neatly next to my mostly still full plate and straightened a bit.
"You're leaving?" Yun asked, his familiar blue eyes not missing even the slightest shift in my energy.
I nodded. "Yeah, I think I've had enough of family dinner."
A jolt of silence passed down the incredibly long table, from Yun's place on one end to mine near the other. Jae-ah's eyes flicked up, shivering as if she felt the energy passing through her weak frame as it crackled between Yun and me. Glancing toward my little sister, I allowed my expression to soften.
Yun pursed his lips, looking down at his food. "Has he been like that a lot since I left?"
It took a moment for the words to come to me. Jae-ah's nimble fingers picked at the fraying hem of her dress sleeve as I cleared my throat.
"Not that bad," I said.
Yun inhaled deeply, nodding. He didn't show any sign of whether or not he believed my answer, but he never had. After a few moments, he glanced back up toward me, his face settling into that unbothered, almost blank expression he so often wore. Nothing could break through those metal shutters when he closed them.
