I was the centre of a worldwide scandal.
I was a marionette.
All I could do was clutch my brother as my life spiralled out of control.
I missed the tranquillity of Hawksridge.
I missed the lavender-scented breeze when I sat out in the gardens and sketched.
But most of all, I missed the soul-deep connection with Jethro.
I’d continued to bombard him with messages, but he didn’t text back.
Not once.
Not a single time.
My gut churned as the world laughed. Questions followed me wherever I went:
How could they get away with that?
Why didn’t they tell someone?
Why didn’t they run?
Even I felt that way.
Yes, the Debt Inheritance was used as a tool to wield power. Yes, it granted certain privileges to our pain. But none of that was the real reason.
There was nothing to stop Jethro or his family setting up a sniper rifle on the building opposite our home and firing rounds of ammo through our windows, slicing our lifespan in a blink.
They didn’t need the Debt Inheritance to kill us.
This was something more.
A game.
Something I felt was more to do with Jethro than with me. I was just the unlucky target. Just like any employee had to prove their loyalty and skills before a promotion, I had a horrible feeling I was Jethro’s final test.
* * * * *
Needle&Thread:I don’t know why I keep messaging you. You’ve cut me out of your life completely. Three weeks, Kite. Three long weeks of nothing. You’ve hurt me worse than anyone. I miss talking. I miss our messages. I miss...
I pressed send before I could delete it.
I shouldn’t miss him—not when he obviously felt nothing for me.
Try telling my stupid heart that.
My stupid heart fed me worry. I feared for his life. I had no way of knowing if he was alive or dead.
Waiting for a new message reminded me of the very beginning when I first started messaging him. I’d hang on a thread for one tiny response—waiting for a sliver of his attention. It seemed I’d gone full circle.
I leaned over to dump the phone into my bedside drawer when something miraculous happened.
It vibrated.
Oh, my God!
