“Go,” he says. “We have work to do. You too, Penelope. Time to go to college and act like it’s a regular weekday.”
I grab my backpack from the couch, shove my feet into my sneakers, and head for the door.
The drive back to my dorm feels like being pulled in two directions. Part of me wants to turn the car around, go back and hide at Gideon’s until this is all over. The other part of me knows I’m the only reason Minxy will not completely lose her mind when we drag her out of that place.
I pull into the parking lot and kill the engine.
My dorm looks exactly the same as when I left it—messy bed, half-open textbooks, the hoodie I meant to wash three days ago still draped over my chair.
Normal.
But I’m not normal.
I shut the door behind me, drop my backpack on the floor, then my phone buzzes, and my stomach drops.
I just stare at the screen for a few seconds, debating letting it go to voicemail, but I swipe to answer.
“Hello,” I say.
There’s a soft click I’m guessing is a headset.
“Hello, is this Talon Grant?” A woman’s professional voice comes through the line.
“Yes.”
“This is Mrs. Keller calling from St. Helen’s. You’re listed as a secondary contact for Minxy Grant.”
Everything within me locks up.
“Is she okay?” I ask immediately.
“Yes,” she says, and I almost laugh, because it’s the most dishonestyesI’ve ever heard in my life.
“Then what’s this about?” I hit the record call button and pray that I’m about to get something that helps my sister.
“We’re calling to inform you that Minxy’s communication schedule has been adjusted. She’ll not be making her usual weekly calls or sending emails… for the foreseeable future.”
The room shrinks around me.
“For the foreseeable future…” I repeat slowly.
“Yes,” she says again. “Her care team determined that limiting external contact is in her best therapeutic interest.”
My pulse spikes so hard I feel it behind my eyes.
“She needs her family,” I snap. “Not isolation.”
“I understand this is difficult,” she says with a tone that proves she absolutely doesn’t. “If you have concerns, you’re welcome to contact our administrative office. Thank you for your time, Mr. Grant.”
The line goes dead.
I lower the phone, and the whole room blurs. I grab the edge of my desk so hard I think I might rip it out of the floor.
No calls.
No emails.
No contact.
