Page 105 of Reign

“Yeah. Hang on,” Emma says, her voice faint.

I perk up, angling my head to better see into Callie’s room. Callie steps aside, the deep purple of her floor-length gown flowing across her legs as she walks. It sets off the subtle red in her hair—a copper fire I always knew was in her but never took the time to spot outside her.

My sister steps into the doorframe in a pale blue gown, her hair combed to one side and flowing over her shoulder. She chose to have her hair styled on her right to mask the scars on her cheek and neck, but I want her to wear them proudly.

As if summoned, my healing stab wound throbs a reminder that physical differences can sometimes make one shy.

Emma meets raises her eyes to mine. I’m about to say, “You look extravag—”

“Put a shirt on, you social media whore.”

I bark out a laugh. “I’m only holding out my phone so I can constantly check the time while I wait for you angels.” I peer behind her. “Is Eden ready, or am I still waiting to put on my shirt?”

“She’s ready,” Callie says, and I can’t help but look to her and smile.

Her voice remains quiet, tentative, and unsure. After the events that transpired and my long hospital stay, she’s approached these last months as she would a viper. Cautious, suspicious, and threatened.

Especially considering Sabine is still in a coma. My hope is she’ll never wake up.

The temple’s showdown was told to me in spurts as I regained consciousness and how the society lost control of some members, many were hurt, and one severely injured when she was stabbed in self-defense, then stumbled and folded over the second story barrier.

That was the first story given to me by Detective Haskins. The truth was whispered in my ear during my first night back, with Callie curled against me and explaining how she pushed—she pushed—Sabine headfirst into a marble floor.

She admitted to killing my mother, Callie said. And was unashamed about Ivy, unrepentant about all the girls she’d had molested and raped. All she cared about was Piper, a girl she could never get back. She didn’t give a shit about anybody living. It’s like the rage of every person wronged by her swept through me. I couldn’t stop it if I tried.

Did you try? I asked, but it wasn’t with judgment.

Her hair brushed under my jaw as she shook her head in answer. I didn’t want to be a good person then. I wanted to be as bad as her.

I kissed her head. You’ll never be like her. I love you, Callie.

After one beat. Two. Three. I love you, too.

I said them. After years of refusing love, I’ve finally accepted it. It’s with those words in mind I tilt my head back to get a better, full-on view of her as she passes me and heads to the kitchen for a trillionth cup of coffee. Callie catches on to my attention, covering her mouth with her fingers as she quiets a soft huff of embarrassment. “Stop looking at me like that. Your sister is right there.” She motions to the bedroom, a place I wish we were frequenting right about now.

The mention of Emma sobers me. Again. “She handling everything okay?”

Callie shrugs. “Graduation day? Sure. It’s nothing compared to the level of torture she endured at the hands of your father, being told she was adopted, then witnessing Sabine plunge off a balcony.”

“Fair point,” I muse, but I’m not convinced.

Emma and I hashed things out as much as we could with only a four-month time period between Hell and Earth. It took a lot of coaxing, but I’m pretty confident I’ve convinced her she’ll always be my twin, no matter fucking what.

It was important to me that Emma and Callie work their shit out, too, and while it’s still in progress, the fact that these three misfits are getting ready together for our final day at Briarcliff Academy is a big win.

“Do you regret staying at Briarcliff?” I ask her as she fiddles with the coffee machine. Emma and Eden stay in the bedroom, bickering about some sort of salmon sash—whatever the hell that means.

Callie answers with zero hesitation. “No.” She stops what she’s doing and looks up. “Because that would’ve meant leaving you.”

My girl.

My girl blew the case wide open when she did what she did that day. I wish I could tell her daily how proud of her I am, how strong she is, but the words always die on my lips when those haunted eyes of hers meet mine. They’re burnished now, those golden greens. Torn and spent with wear.

But I love them. And I love her about as much as I can love anybody—with every fiber I possess.

“You guys ready?” Callie calls while sliding a mug over to me.

I take the shot of espresso, wishing it were tequila.

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