I lean down so my mouth is near his ear. “This is where we fatten the other calf.”
He tilts his head toward me. “And then?”
“And then,” I say, “we see which one screams loudest when the knife comes down.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Shae
Later that afternoon, Iris sits at my kitchen table like she belongs there. I couldn’t stand her silence, so I invited her over for cocktails, sisterly chit-chat, and an offer I’m hoping she won’t be able to refuse.
I take her in, searching for something familiar in the contours of her face. She’s pretty in an unassuming, careful way—not because she smiles too easily or keeps her hands folded like she’s waiting to be told what to do, but because of how she leans forward when I open my laptop, elbows grazing the wood, like this is a shared project. Like she’s already woven herself into the frame.
I don’t invite people into my kitchen.
I especially don’t invite people who might be lying about sharing my blood.
“So,” I say, clicking through flight options, Costa Rica glowing blue-green on the screen. “I’m thinking late March. Dry season. Easier sell.”
Iris nods eagerly. “That makes sense. People want escape, not mudslides.”
She laughs softly at her own joke, then stops—checking my face to see if it landed.
It did. I just don’t show it.
I scroll. San José. Liberia. Smaller airstrips near the coast.
“This retreat is already sold out,” I continue. “But there’s a waitlist. Sponsors. Media interest. It’s… a lot.”
“I can help,” Iris says—too fast. “With logistics. Coordination. Whatever you need.”
Her face brightens like she’s been waiting for permission. Like I’ve handed her a purpose.
Interesting.
I glance at her and let my mouth curve into something polite. Grateful-adjacent.
“That could be useful,” I say. “It’s overwhelming, honestly.”
Her shoulders drop, like I’ve absolved her of something.
“I’d love to,” she says. “Truly. Anything.”
Of course you would.
This is why I’m doing it—letting her in, giving her a task, a title, a reason to stay close. It’s easier to observe someone when they think they’ve been invited.
I tap my trackpad, pulling up a spreadsheet. Budgets. Lodging blocks. Transportation vendors.
“If you helped,” I say casually, “it would give us time to get to know each other better.”
Her eyes flicker. Just once.
“Yes,” she says. “That would be… really nice.”
Measured.
Careful.
