Page 46 of Forsaken Oath

The thingabout an illegal street racing tournament is that there isn’t a listed schedule. There’s no group chat or email invitation. I hadn’t thought much about that until now. They gave us the vaguest directions at the Alley, with the whole “we’ll reach out to youifyou’re selected” spiel. Great. When, though? Am I expected to just sit in this dreaded fog of purgatory forever? Any kind of timeline would’ve been helpful. A day, a week—hell, even if they’d said a month, at least I’d know.

Instead, for the past two days, I’ve found myself checking my phone every hour or two. It’s exhausting, and it’s not the kind of dependency I want in my life. I already have enough burner phones to keep track of for Seven Pines as it is.

I knock on my sister’s bedroom door. “Vivie? Can I come in?”

“Yeah, I’m just reading,” she calls back.

I push open her door, wincing at the loud creak it makes. Mentally, I add it to the never-ending to-do list that comes with this house. Sure enough, my youngest sister sits in the middle of her bed, bent over a book on her lap, wet hair dripping down her back.

I step into her room, toeing the door closed but stopping it right before it creaks. Margot is studying in her room across the hall, and I don’t want to disturb her. “What’re you reading?”

“It’s an action-adventure. Sort of fantasy, I guess.”

“Ooh, that sounds fun. Tell me more. Still want me to braid your hair?”

“Sure,” she says, scooting over and giving me her back. “It’s about this girl who lives in, like, a magical time, right? And she’s the last princess, but she doesn’tknowshe’s a princessorthe last of her name. She thinks she’s just some random girl. But it’s all about to change because she just inherited some powers, and I just know she’s gonna . . .”

I make a few quiet agreements, asking a few more questions to get her to keep talking while I weave her hair into twin Dutch braids. They’re more like sisters than twins, I guess, but it’s a good enough job. Vivie has the best hair out of all of us. Long, thick, and the richest chestnut shade that glows red in the sun.

It’s in these soft moments that I feel it. The quiet moments of normalcy, of just being a big sister, ground me in a way few other things can. They remind me of why I made the choices I did, even when doubt threatens to creep in.

The validation I always seem to be searching for flows toward me like the tide. It laps at my ankles and crawls up my calves. It seeps into my pores and settles something restless inside of me.

I wrestle with my conscience on a weekly basis, wondering if I did the right thing by taking her and Margot away from our mother. Hoping that I’ve created a place for them that’s safe. Somewhere they can have the space to grow and figure out who they are.

Somewhere Vivie’s allowed to be a kid.

When I was her age, I was already working full-time, going to school, and taking care of my sisters.

Vivie isn’t my daughter, but she’s more than just my sister. Our relationship exists somewhere in between. Those early days with Mom and Vivie as a newborn were rough—the kind of days that sear into your soul and become core memories. But the thing about core memories is that they can be good and bad.

They shape your flaws and your strengths, your instincts and resilience. They leave marks that remind you not only of what you’ve endured, but also of what you’re capable of overcoming.

The weight of those memories settles heavy in my chest, but I push it aside, focusing on the present moment with Vivie.

“Hey, Viv,” I say as I secure the last hair tie around the braid.

“Hm?” she asks, but she doesn’t pull her face from her book.

“You’d tell me if you needed anything, right? If you weren’t happy or felt like you were missing out on something? You’d come to me if you had questions?”

She lays the book in her lap, her fingers keeping her page. She hesitates. “Yeah, I would.”

“Good. I’m just saying, if you ever have questions about anything, you can always come to me. No matter what it is. No matter where I am. Okay? I’m here for you. Always.”

“Even about Mom?”

I tense without thinking, fear slamming into me from all angles. I exhale through my nose. “Did something happen?”

She fiddles with the edge of the page. “No, not really. Just some kids at school.”

I curse under my breath. That fucking school is the best in the area; I didn’t think we’d have to deal with any of that shit. I guess it goes to show it’s not the school, really—it’s the kids. And, maybe, the age. Middle school is just a tough age in general.

I slide off her bed and sit in front of her, taking her hand in mine. I wait until she meets my gaze. “You can ask me anything you want about Mom. I’ll always be honest with you, okay?”

She bites the side of her cheek, her big brown eyes flicking back and forth between mine. “Yeah, okay.”

“Now, what did those little assholes say?”

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