Elowen’s face crumpled.
“Vesper,” she whispered. “Please.”
I hated that whisper.
I hated how it went straight through my ribs.
I hated that a part of me still wanted to be the sister who fixed it.
But I had spent a year learning the difference between love and surrender.
I turned to my mother.
“Kids can stay tonight,” I said. “You and Elowen can use the phone. Sylas can wait on the porch if he raises his voice again.”
Sylas laughed once.
A sharp ugly sound.
“Look at you,” he said. “One year with an old man in a big house and now you think you’re better than everybody.”
Before I could respond, Mr. Gideon stepped closer.
“She is better than the version of herself you were hoping to use,” he said.
Nobody moved.
Even the toddler stopped crying for half a second.
My mother’s mouth tightened.
