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Chapter 8 - The Price of TreacheryDown the hall in the temporary holding cells, the atmosphere was vastly different.

My sister, Emma, was pacing the perimeter of the secure glass enclosure like a trapped animal. Her designer coat was wrinkled, her makeup streaked with tears, and her manicured nails dug furiously into her palms.

When she saw me walking down the corridor past her cell, her head whipped around. She rushed to the glass barrier, slamming her hands against it.

“Tessa!” Emma shrieked, her voice pitching up into hysterical fury. “Get me out of here! Do you hear me? Call your lawyer right now! You can’t let them keep me in this filthy box!”

I stopped walking. I turned slowly, stepping up to the glass partition, looking down at the girl who had stood over my broken body with a phone in her hand, laughing while I begged for help.

“Your misery makes me happy, Emma,” I quoted softly, throwing her own words right back at her with chilling precision.

Emma’s breath hitched. Her eyes widened in sudden, stark terror as the cruel irony of her statement landed with the weight of an avalanche.

“Please, Tessa... I was just following Mom and Dad’s lead! They told me what to say!” Emma sobbed, sliding down the glass until she was huddled on the cold concrete floor. “I’m your sister! We’re family!”

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“Family,” I repeated the word, tasting the bitter ash on my tongue. “Is that what you call the people who leave you to freeze in an alley after breaking a crystal vase across your spine?”

I didn't wait for her answer. I turned on my heel, my boots clicking rhythmically against the linoleum floor, and walked away as her desperate, muffled cries echoed down the empty corridor.

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