Page 162 of Dance With A Devil

The convoy rolls into the dark, five Devils, one queen, and a city that just learned what terror smells like when it burns.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Athens

“Girl, get the fuck on with it,” Fred snaps, shoving me forward when my feet forget how to move.

I don’t know why I let them drag me here. Scratch that. I do. Because I’m a coward.

This house, this moment, this conversation… it’s a reckoning. And I’ve been dodging it like it owes me blood.

What the hell do I even say?

Sorry I ghosted you after reading how our lives were torn apart in someone else's handwriting? Sorry I found out you were my sister and ran like a bitch instead of facing it? Sorry I let the monsters win by hiding in silence?

Yeah. All of that. And still, none of it feels like enough.

“Do you realize you talk out loud when you spiral?” Ryan asks, dry as dust, arms crossed like she’s waiting on popcorn.

“I do not.”

“Mmm.” She taps her chin, eyes lit with trouble. “You lie as easy as you breathe. Must be in the blood.”

“Shut up,” I snap, shifting like I can outrun the shame pooling in my chest. “I don’t want to do this.”

“Tough.” Fred’s voice hardens. “We read the journals. You cried. We cried. Now it’s time to grab the bull by the fuckin’ balls and choke him out.”

“That’s not how the saying goes.”

“It is when it’s my life.” Ryan shrugs, and for once, I don’t want to slap her.

“Let’s just get it over with,” Fred mutters, looping her arm through mine like she knows I’m one flinch from bolting.

We step up to the door like we’re about to breach a crime scene.Knock. Knock. Knock.And with each rap, my heart pounds louder.

I didn’t just ignore them. I exiled myself. From my mother.

From my sister. From the only truth I’ve ever known.

Therapy’s never been my thing. Strangers don't get to fix me. I fix myself, by force if I have to. But those journals? They cracked me open. I bled through every page.

And then the door opens. Andhervoice does something no memory ever could.

“Athens? Baby, are you okay?”

Suddenly, I’m eight years old again, hiding behind her skirt, her hand on my head, blood dripping from the blade she buried in my father’s chest.

And this is how I repaid her? Silence? Distance? A fucking betrayal in its own right?

“Mama?” My voice shatters as I crash into her. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“No, baby.” She clutches me like I’m still made of pieces. “I’msorry. Sorry you had to find out the way you did… but it had to come from you. I couldn’t steal that from you again.”

“I hated reading them, but I needed it. Still feels like there’s more. Like something’s missing.”

“There is,” she whispers. “But you’ll find it.”

Behind me, Ryan clears her throat, and I remember I didn’t come alone.