"Yes, we will." She smiles at Ellie, all sweetness and light. "My brother here never goes out or socializes. It'll be good for him to interact with actual human beings for once."
"It's settled, then." Ellie claps her hands together. "I'll put you both down for the costume contest. Prizes for best individual and best couple."
"We're not a couple," I say through gritted teeth. "We're siblings."
"Even better—sibling costumes are adorable." She's already backing away, sensing victory. "See you both Friday night. Seven o'clock sharp."
She disappears down the aisle before I can argue further, and I round on Sloane, who's examining a package of organic chicken with entirely too much satisfaction.
"What the hell was that?" I hiss, trying to keep my voice low. Last thing I want is to offend the town gossip by acting like a curmudgeon.
"That was me accepting a social invitation. You should try it sometime." She drops the chicken in the cart. "Besides, it'll be fun. When's the last time you went to a party?"
"I don't do parties."
"Clearly. You don't do anything except brood in your cabin and threaten people." She moves past me toward the dairy section. "A few hours of normalcy won't kill you."
"Someone out there is actively trying to kill us both." I follow behind her but the cart makes it awkward. "This isn't the time for costume parties."
"Or it's exactly the time. If we're visible, social, acting normal, maybe whoever's watching will think we don't know we're targets." She grabs milk—skim, because apparently, I'm not allowed to have whole milk either. "You said yourself that they're playing games. Let's play back."
The logic is sound, which only irritates me more. "I'll think about it."
"You'll agree to it, or I'll tell Ellie the truth about who you really are." She says it casually, inspecting yogurt labels, but the threat is clear.
"You wouldn't."
"Try me." She meets my eyes, and there's steel there. "I'm done being locked in cellars and dragged around town with fake diagnoses. You want my cooperation? Start treating me as an equal, not a prisoner."
We're at an impasse. I could force the issue, but she'd fight me every step, and drawing more attention is the last thing I need.
"Fine. We'll go to the damn party."
"Wonderful." Her smile is victorious. "Now put back the processed meat and get the organic chicken. Your arteries will thank me."
I want to tell her to mind her own business and let me eat what I want, but the woman in the next aisle is still watching, and making a scene over poultry seems beneath even my standards.
So I switch the packages and keep moving.
We finish shopping in hostile silence, my cart a battlefield of compromises. When we reach the self-checkout, I'm mentally calculating how quickly I can get her out of town and back to the cabin where she can't volunteer me for social events or critique my nutritional choices.
Then Wade Carver walks through the entrance.
He spots us immediately, his burly frame blocking the doorway as blue eyes lock onto mine. It's like the bastard can smell blood in the water like a shark and comes sniffing just to make trouble. He swaggers over to us, eyeing Sloane with a suspicious expression.
"Strouse… Sarah." He nods at each of us. "Good to see you out and about. How's the medication situation working out?"
Sloane's jaw clenches. I can see the fury building behind her eyes, the restrained need to tell him exactly what she thinks of his medication comments and this entire charade.
"She's doing much better," I say quickly. "Really turned a corner these past few days."
"That's good to hear. Mental health is nothing to mess around with." He's watching Sloane as he says it, reading her reaction. "You taking care of yourself, young lady? Following your brother's instructions?"
The slap comes out of nowhere. Sloane's palm connects with my cheek hard enough to snap my head sideways, and the crackechoes through the store. Pain radiates across my face, and my hand shoots up, poised for a second to grab her wrist, but I smoothly rest it on my cheek and scowl at her.
"Go to hell," she snarls at me, then storms toward the exit.
Wade chuckles, shaking his head. "Women. They get a little feisty sometimes, don't they? My ex-wife used to throw things when she got mad. Took a plate to the head once." He taps his temple and cocks his head at me.
