Page 28

I don’t know why I expected everything to stop while I was gone. My friends aren’t an abandoned video game save file, so I don’t know why my mind has treated them as such.

Their world doesn’t revolve around me.

“It was the same brunette from the other day,” I say. “Do you think they’re plotting something? I can’t tell if she’s a vampire, and I don’t recognize her from the compound.” We both pretend I’m not an actual crazy person.

“Do you want a ‘me’ answer or a ‘Hale’ answer?” she asks, and I decide I don’t need an answer at all. When I look away, she gives me her brutal honesty. “He’s trying to fuck you out of his system.”

I laugh, and it makes my head hurt. “I don’t think he’s quite that affected.”

“Come on. She’s your clone.”

“She’s not tall enough, and her hair is too light.”

“Not anymore,” Sasha says, repositioning on the bed to sit closer to me.

“Sure, but he doesn’t know that.”

She leans forward and grabs my hairbrush off the nightstand.

My stomach clenches. Hale has been here with me so many times—too many times—but I’ve tried to protect Sasha from this.

It’s embarrassing, especially when she’s so organized and impassive.

She’s slow to anger, quiet when she’s in her thoughts, and I’ve rarely even seen her disheveled.

Hale is like me, messy and unrefined, and so I don’t mind letting him see the bad parts.

But at least my hair isn’t as tangled as it could be—though it’s close. My hair has gone matted a few times in my life, requiring intervention from a professional hair stylist, and we’re not at that point.

Yet.

“I think all of his magic has faded,” she says gently as she pulls the brush through my now golden-blonde strands.

“I might have to request that Caitriona woman come back and fix it. I don’t know if I like it,” I say. Between the unfamiliar hue of my natural hair color, and the sharp-toothed fangs of a predator revealing themselves when I smile, I’m lucky I don’t disassociate every time I look in the mirror.

Sasha is quiet for a moment. “You know hair dye is a thing that average people have access to, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same.”

It had almost become a ritual, having Angela or Hale dye my hair. With Cynthia and my dad’s hair being so dark, my blonde had stuck out like a sore thumb. To protect me from Bjorn’s coven, Angela offered to modify it when she started dating my dad.

“Things change, Gwyn,” she says before clearing her throat, pulling a piece of my hair into her hand to separate it from the rest. She tugs at a particularly stubborn tangle, only saving her tenderness for her words. “I’m leaving.”

I stiffen, back going straight, and I’m about to ask her why when she puts her hand on my shoulder.

“I can’t leave if you’re like this. You need to stop rotting in this bed and go take a shower.”

I know what I should do, what she wants me to do, but that’s the problem isn’t it?

I don’t actually need to do it. Truthfully, I don’t need to do anything.

With my plan having fallen the fuck apart, Hale without magic to help me track down Agnarr, and my only bargaining chip given to Roman, what’s the point of any of this?

All I’m doing is biding my time, waiting for Roman to finally nut up and kill me.

I’m his willing prisoner, eager for any attention he might give me, even if it’s the last I’ll ever receive.

As the rising sun peeks out from behind a cloud, I’m grateful that at least my death row is quite comfortable.

The buildings surrounding the compound go dark, one by one, shutting off the red and green lights pointed skyward that splash against brick to create a pretty view of the skyline.

The holiday came and went, and without Hale, Sasha and I didn’t celebrate.

But the lights are festive, and they’ll likely stay on for the remainder of the holiday season.

When Sasha finishes brushing my hair, I realize I’ve spaced out this entire time, staring out the windows.

I turn to face her, and her gaze drags an accusatory path from the bags under my eyes to the dirty tank top and underwear I’m wearing, all the way to the fingernails I’ve chewed down.

My cuticles aren’t raw anymore, already healed after the last nail-biting hyperfixation an hour ago.

“You stink, sis,” she says, and it’s not hateful. It’s just a fact. I wouldn’t have thought vampires could have body odor, but there was a lot about vampires I didn’t know.

“Where are you going?” I ask, mouth dry.

Alone , I think. I’ll be alone, without anyone—again.

“The Institute. With Hale Ascending, I think…We’ve all made sacrifices haven’t we?” She reaches over and squeezes my hand. “It’s my turn.”

“But your dad. Sasha, are you serious?” I ask. “You haven’t seen him in?—”

“It’s been so long it’s not worth assigning a number to it. And that’s why it’ll be fine. He’s a stranger to me, and I’m a stranger to him. I’ll go, figure out how to use my magic, and it’ll be fine.”

I contemplate what to say to her. I don’t want her near the man either. Angela had kept Sasha away from her dad for as long as I can remember—and for good reason. But because of it, Sasha’s knowledge of her gifts is limited.

“Is he still headmaster?” I ask, hoping for a way to change her mind. “Will they even let you in? You’re like forty.”

She tosses my hand back into my lap as she rolls her eyes—but there’s definitely a hint of a smile when she says, “I just turned thirty, asshole.”

“Oh, is that all?” I ask, using humor to dodge my feelings.

“You’re not that far behind, shithead. Besides, do you really think they’d turn away a Proctor?”

I shudder when I hear her refer to a last name that only belongs to her by blood. Sasha is a Parsons, just like me, and no amount of leaning into her ancestry will take that from her.

“I mean, but are you a Proctor if you don’t claim it?” I ask, dreading the answer she inevitably gives.

“I think it’s time I do just that.”

I swallow, words sticky in my throat, as if I’d have to fight a battle to get each one out.

I don’t know if I have the fortitude to fight past what’s welling up in my throat.

When she leaves, I’ll be alone again, and that’s a scary fucking place to be these days.

Despite the fact I haven’t committed any acts of personal hygiene in the past week, I still have a little pride, and I don’t let any pitiful words break past my defenses.

“Okay,” I say, nodding if only to assure myself. Instead of allowing the inescapable maw of despair to wrap around my throat and bite, I need to plan. “Demon networks are widespread. If I’m going to find Agnarr without the aid of magic, then I don’t think I have another choice.”

If she knows this is me deflecting my emotions, she doesn’t let on. The corners of her eyes crinkle, and she mulls over my idea. She stands, adjusting her clothing and pulling out her phone to check the time.

“I have to go if I’m going to make my flight, and you need to bathe if you’re going to treatise with a demon. Their hosts do have noses, you know.”

“Yeah,” I say, but I don’t stand up. For some reason I don’t want to think too hard about, I can’t meet her eyes.

“Call me, okay?” she asks, and she places her hand on the top of my head. My sister pushes, forcing my chin to tip and my eyes to meet hers. “You have to take care of yourself, alright?”

I don’t speak, but I give her a soft smile and nod. Words and tears are being held at bay with the tiniest of fingers plugging a hole in the dam.

“Keep me updated about Hale,” she says, and then she’s leaving—out the door and out of the penthouse and out of the country.

And I’m alone.