Page 178 of Deviant

“Harper, move.”

“Elias, listen when I tell you that you don’t want me to do that.”

“If there is anything on that wall that involves Rowen, then she needs to know. Secrets are poison, Harper. They are the reasons why we’re all here in the first place. So, step aside before I make you.”

“Make me,” the brat has the nerve to say, digging in with her heels.

“With pleasure.” I pick her up and plant her next to Andy so he can deal with his woman while I give room to mine to check whatever the fuck is on that wall.

But the instant my gaze lands on the plaque Harper was trying to hide, I kick myself for not listening to her.

2009 – Sarah Hawthorne – Volunteer

Not only did Rowen’s mom volunteer forThe Scourge,but she won.

Chapter 32

Rowen

Once I’m sure Elias is fast asleep, I quietly slip out of bed, pull on my Converse sneakers, and grab my favorite blue hoodie that I brought from home before sneaking out of the room.

I know that when he finds out in the morning that I left his bedside, there is going to be hell to pay, but unfortunately what I have to do, I have to do alone.

Moving on feather-light feet to avoid waking anyone, I tiptoe over to Harper and Andy’s room and knock softly on the door. “Harper… Harper… It’s me. Open the door,” I whisper, hoping she’s a light sleeper and that Andy isn’t.

Thankfully, after a minute or so, a groggy Harper comes to the door.

“It sure took you long enough,” she yawns before shoving her hand into her robe pocket. “I had a feeling you’d be popping by tonight. Here,” she says before handing me the master key.

“How did you know?” I ask, astounded, staring at the key in my hand.

“Hey, we’re besties, remember? I know you.” She gifts me a genuine smile. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, thanks. I’d rather do this on my own.”

“Yeah, I figured as much,” she says before pulling me into a hug. “I didn’t say it before, but I’ll say it now. She doesn’t know what she’s missed.” I close my eyes and hug Harper just as fiercely as she’s hugging me.

“Thank you.”

“No problem, bestie,” she says before releasing me from her embrace. “Do what you need to do to get some closure. But if I don’t hear your footsteps creep back into your room after an hour, I’m waking up the cavalry, got it? I don’t like the idea of you sneaking around this place late at night on your own.”

“I promise I’ll be careful. And an hour is more than enough.” I smile widely before waving her goodbye.

I then proceed to tiptoe through the shadowy hall of the mansion, each creak of the floorboards beneath my feet sounding like a thunderclap in the stillness of the night. My heart races as I reach the staircase and walk up to the second floor of the house, dreading entering the library that holds the haunting reminder of my mother. With every cautious step upward, I fight the urge to return to the safety of my room, since the image of my mother’s plaque pulls at me like a magnet, urging me to confront the memories I’ve tried so hard to bury.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting on the floor staring at the golden plaque naming my mother the winner ofThe Scourgein 2009. Her name etched onto the wall feels like a cruel taunt I can’t escape. All these years I thought she was dead. I spent my entire life believing a lie. Not only is my mother alive, but she willingly chose to leave me and my father forThe Scourge,never to return.

How could she have done that to us?

Everyone who ever knew her made sure to tell me how wonderful she was. They eagerly shared stories about her kind heart, her quirky sense of humor, and what a devoted mother and wife she had been. Far too often I felt envious of those recounting such beautiful recollections, since my own memories of my mother were so faint that sometimes they felt more like a dream than reality.

I was only five when it happened. When I saw my mother pull down her eagle mask during the Harvest Festival. At the time, I didn’t understand why everyone was staring at us with pity in their eyes. I was too young to comprehend any of it, and although it’s sometimes difficult to recall her face without a photograph as a reference, I still remember the words she whispered in my ear to this day.

‘I love you, Rowen. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. Remember that.’

I cried my eyes out watching her leave with the others in her group, but it was the news of her death one month later that made me the fearful person that I am.Or was.

How could she lie like that?

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