Sloane stepped back toward the doorway, her breath hitching in her throat, a sound of genuine, primal fear. The cloak of composed, nurturing sweetness shattered, leaving behind the jagged edges of a girl raised to be nothing but a weapon.
Elara sat up and didn’t move. She didn’t even flinch. She pulled herself to the edge of the bed and sat straight up, deliberately keeping her injured hand in the light, the blood now dark and sluggish against her pale skin. She had learned the Estate’s rules: the architecture of Oakhaven was built on the assumption that they were fragile, malleable, and easily broken.
“You’re shaking, Sloane,” Elara said, her voice dropping into a low, calm, hollow monotone, using the exact frequency of the “madness” Sloane had tried to cultivate in her and had seen provoked so many times before.
Sloane’s eyes darted to the shattered vial on the nightstand, then back to Elara. “You don’t know what you’ve done. You’ve triggered the feedback. If you don’t stop—”
“Stop what?” Elara interrupted, leaning forward with a curious intent. She consciously tightened the bond, pulsing a sharp, cold ache through the “Shared Nerve,” mimicking the agony Sloane had inflicted for years on them.
Sloane gasped, clutching her chest and stumbling back until she hit the hallway with a sickeningly loud thud. The Estate seemed to lean in with her, the shadows of the Louisiana bayou stretching through the open door and windows like long, grasping fingers.
“Tell me,” Elara demanded, her eyes now wide and unblinking, reflecting the true, terrifying lucidity she had hidden since childhood. “How many girls have been pruned before us, Sloane? How many ‘best friends’ did Oakhaven love enough to let the soil drink them?”
“We are prosperity,” Sloane wheezed, her voice trembling, stripped of its melodic purity and practiced warmth. “The town needs the debt paid. If we don’t bind, Oakhaven dies. We were chosen for this. We were made for this.”
“You were made to lie,” Elara countered. She stood, her bloodied hand forcing the bond to hum between them, a high, piercing note that made the air in the room vibrate.
“Now,” Elara whispered, leaning in close enough to smell jasmine and the rot on Sloane’s skin. “We’re going to talk about the ledger, and you’re going to tell me exactly how to break the spine.”