Chapter 186| What Edward Earned

The letter arrived through official channels, formal enough that Allen recognized its weight before he’d even finished reading the letterhead — a notice from the WHRIB tribunal overseeing Edward’s ongoing supervision, requesting a formal review of his continued progress.

"They’re considering reducing my restrictions," Edward said, showing Allen the notice with visible, cautious hope. "Not lifting them entirely. But enough that I could apply for limited Hunter registration again, under continued oversight."

"That’s considerable progress," Allen said, genuine warmth settling into his chest. "How do you feel about it?"

"Terrified," Edward admitted. "Grateful, but terrified. I don’t know if I trust myself with that kind of freedom yet. What if I make the same mistakes again?"

"You won’t," Allen said firmly. "You’re not the same person who made those choices. I’ve watched you change, Edward. Genuinely, considerably change."

Edward absorbed the reassurance with visible, uncertain gratitude, and Allen found himself, watching his brother turn the notice over with careful, deliberate attention, struck once again by exactly how far this halting, patient redemption had traveled since that first difficult day on the schoolhouse crew.

"Will you come to the hearing?" Edward asked. "I know it’s not required. But I’d like you there, if you’re willing."

"Of course," Allen said. "Whenever it’s scheduled."

---

William’s own considerably less welcome message arrived the following week, terse and characteristically dismissive, requesting a meeting Allen had no genuine desire to grant but felt, given everything else this year had taught him about family and reconciliation, obligated to at least consider.

"He wants to discuss the patriarch succession," Myria said, reviewing the message with careful, professional distance. "Given your father’s declining public presence and Edward’s own diminished standing, William apparently believes the timing favors pressing his own claim."

"Of course he does," Allen said, old, familiar exhaustion settling in alongside genuine wariness.

"Do you want to meet with him?" Vivian asked.

Allen considered the question carefully. "I don’t trust him," he admitted. "I don’t think that’s likely to change soon, if ever. But I don’t want to refuse a conversation purely out of old resentment, either. Susan changed. Edward changed. I don’t know if William’s capable of the same thing, but I’d rather find out directly than simply assume."

They met three days later, William arriving with the same polished, self-assured confidence Allen remembered from every prior encounter, though something in his posture carried a rare, uncharacteristic edge of genuine unease.

"I’ll be direct," William said, settling into the guild’s meeting room with visible reluctance. "Mother’s transformation, Edward’s rehabilitation — it’s left me in a considerably awkward position within the family’s own hierarchy. I want to know where you actually stand, regarding the succession."

"I don’t want the patriarch title," Allen said honestly. "I never have. I have exactly the life I want here."

William studied him with careful, calculating attention, clearly searching for some hidden angle behind the straightforward answer. "You’re serious."

"Completely," Allen confirmed. "If you want it, William, pursue it properly. Earn Father’s actual respect, the way Edward’s earning WHRIB’s. I won’t stand in your way, provided you’re not still relying on Susan’s old schemes to get there."

Something flickered behind William’s composed exterior — surprise, perhaps, at the absence of the resistance he’d clearly braced for. "That’s not the answer I expected," he admitted.

"I’m not the same brother you remember dismissing either," Allen said simply.

William was quiet a long moment, studying Allen with something that looked, for the first time in years, less like dismissal and more like genuine, uncomfortable reassessment. "Everyone else has apparently found their own path toward becoming someone considerably better," he said finally, something almost bitter in the observation. "I don’t know that I’ve bothered looking for mine."

"It’s not too late," Allen said. "Edward didn’t think he could change either, at first."

"Edward nearly got someone killed before he found the motivation to try," William said flatly.

"I’d rather you find your own reason before it costs that much," Allen said. "But the offer stands regardless. If you ever want to actually talk, rather than posture, you know where to find me."

William left without further conversation, though something in his departing expression carried more genuine consideration than Allen had witnessed from him in years, and Allen found himself, watching his transport pull away, cautiously hopeful that even this most stubborn, resistant corner of his fractured family might, eventually, find its own way toward something better.

"Do you think that actually reached him?" Vivian asked, joining him at the window.

"I don’t know," Allen admitted. "But I said it honestly, and that’s more than I’ve ever managed with William before. Whatever he does with it now is his own choice to make."

"That’s all any of us can offer anyone," Vivian said gently, and together they watched the evening settle over Hegeville’s steady, hopeful lights, one more complicated, uncertain thread of family finally, however tentatively, addressed.

Edward’s hearing arrived two weeks later, held in the same modest tribunal chamber where his original sentence had first been handed down, and Allen sat beside him this time rather than merely observing from the gallery, a small but considerable shift that seemed to steady his brother more than either of them had expected.

The panel reviewed his file with careful, methodical thoroughness — his community service record, the schoolhouse and vocational center’s own glowing testimony, Willis’s own written endorsement, blunt and unadorned as always. When the lead official finally read the verdict, restrictions reduced, limited registration approved pending continued oversight, Edward’s shoulders sagged with visible, overwhelming relief.

"You did it," Allen said, clasping his shoulder as they left the chamber.

"We did it," Edward corrected, something fiercely grateful in his tired smile. "I don’t think I’d have made it here without you giving me somewhere to actually prove it."

"You did the proving," Allen said. "I just gave you the room to do it in."

They stood together outside the tribunal building a while longer, the afternoon sun warm against considerable, hard-won relief, and Allen felt, watching his brother finally exhale a burden he’d carried for the better part of a year, quietly grateful for exactly how much genuine redemption this difficult, patient road had ultimately proven possible.

They celebrated modestly that evening, a simple dinner shared among the whole family, Edward included for the first time as something closer to an equal than a supervised guest, and Allen found himself, watching his brother laugh freely for what felt like the first genuine time in years, grateful all over again for exactly how far this patient, difficult year had carried them both.

"To new beginnings," Myria said, raising her glass.

"To earning them properly," Edward added, and the table settled into warm, genuine celebration, one more fractured piece of this remarkable family finally, properly finding its own place among the rest.