"Bah," Caesar muttered, closing his eyes. "I'll sleep soon enough." He was touched by Albert's concern, as nonchalant as the comment had been. It was true that he was tired -- exhausted, to be honest -- but his concern for his estranged brother overrode the fatigue and kept him awake, pushing him past his previous limits and into a dazed, giddy numbness.

For several years, he had justified their rift by telling himself that Albert didn't really matter to him, lost to him as Albert discarded his former life and family as easily as he shed old clothes, that maybe Albert had always been cold to him, and he'd simply been too young and too naive to understand. As a strategist, he'd learned to rely on facts when they were there, and make logical assumptions when necessary. Emotions had no place in that arena, and though Caesar was naturally an emotional being, he'd learned how to be a good strategist.

And so he'd told himself that Albert didn't really matter. It was the most blatant lie he'd ever told in his life.

"Are you warm enough?" Caesar pulled himself from his thoughts, focusing on his brother again.