Page 71 of Open Arms

“What?” Confusion clouded my voice.

“Our blood . . . it’s evil, Katie. We need to do the right thing, and extinguish the line. Snuff it out before any more of us are born.”

“You’re crazy. This is crazy. Please . . .”

As he walked towards me, the grim determination in his gait told me that my sweet, protective older brother was gone. In his place stood a man I no longer recognized—one driven by a twisted sense of duty, ready to extinguish the last ember of our family line.

“Sorry, sis,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “It’s for the best.”

All I knew to do was distract him. Talk to him. Do anything to prevent him from fulfilling this sick mission. Or at least delay him long enough to come up with some other plan.

I thought of Mason. Abby. Their sweet smiles, so similar.How they’d become my family. How they’d made me feel welcome and safe and finally at peace. Only for it all to be ripped away from us.

I couldn’t give up.

“Remember the summers at Lake Henley?” My voice quivered, but I forced it steady, seeking a crack in his resolve. “We’d catch fireflies and make wishes on stars, Jamie. We were happy once.”

He paused, a flicker of something crossing his face, but it was gone as swiftly as it had appeared. “Childhood games. That’s all they were. We’re not kids anymore.”

“Please think about what you’re doing!” Desperation clawed up my throat. “This isn’t the answer. You don’t have to follow in his footsteps. Our past doesn’t define us. He doesn’t define us.”

“Doesn’t it? Doesn’t he?” He circled me like a predator, a sneer curling his lip. “You really believe that? After everything we’ve been through?”

“Because of it,” I insisted, feeling the sting of tears. “We can choose to be better—to break the cycle. Please.”

“Break the cycle?” His laugh was sharp and humorless. “There’s no breaking this cycle. It’s etched in our DNA. Dad showed us that much.”

“Stop it!” I shouted, the sound echoing off the cabin walls. “You’re not him!”

“Maybe not,” he conceded, leaning down until his breath ghosted my ear. “But I’m the one holding the cards now. And I say it’s time to fold.”

The menace in his voice chilled me to the core. For a fleeting second, I glimpsed the brother I once knew—a boy who laughed freely and dreamed big. Now, those dreams were smothered by darkness, and I knew if I didn’t act fast, he’d snuff out mine too.

Jamie’s patience was unraveling, thread by thinningthread, as he paced back and forth in front of me. I kept my face as impassive as possible, but beneath the surface, panic was a wild, thrashing thing. Each creak of the floorboards under his weight was a ticking clock in my head, reminding me that time was running out.

Frantic breaths puffed from my lips as I squirmed, the timber scratching at my ankles. There it was—a glint of metal amidst the dust. A loose nail lay tauntingly close, just a few desperate inches from my reach.

“Hey,” I said, voice barely above a whisper, “remember when we built that fort in the backyard?” Distraction, Chloe. Buy some time.

He paused, his back to me, shoulders tense. “What about it?”

“Mom . . . she brought out lemonade, and Dad . . .” Saying that word left a bitter taste. “ . . . he actually smiled that day.” I edged closer, the nail a beacon of hope in this grim sea.

“Stop it with the nostalgia.” His voice cracked like thin ice. “That world’s gone.”

“Please, Jamie?—“

“Enough!” He spun, but not quite all the way, eyes drilling into the far corner of the room where shadows danced like mocking specters.

Now. It had to be now. My fingers brushed against the cold steel, heart thundering a riotous beat. Pinching the nail between thumb and forefinger, I began to work on the knots, willing them to give way beneath the sharp edge.

“Those were the days, huh?” I kept up the chatter, the nail biting into the hemp. “You, me, not a care in the world.”

“Shut up!” he snapped, but he was looking elsewhere, lost in a storm of memories or madness—I couldn’t tell which.

“Sorry,” I murmured, not sorry at all as I felt the firstloop loosen. Keep talking, keep him turned away. “It’s just . . . you were my hero back then. “

“Hero?” A scoff. “I wasn’t a hero then, I was just a stupid kid. I’m the hero now, Katie. I’m ending the curse. Our father’s blood runs through us?—“

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