I hug her back and breathe in her familiar scent.
“I’m okay. Luca’s the one who got stabbed. My bruises will heal.” I close the door behind her and lock it.
She flips on the coffee machine and starts making coffee for us.
“How is he doing?”
“He’s good, still just as flirty as always.”
“Well at least there’s that.” She scoffs.
We wait silently as the machine beeps, signaling that coffee is ready.
I sit on the couch with my mug, and Dakota sits next to me.
“We really haven’t talked since the pictures…” Her voice is small.
I hesitate a moment and take a long sip of my coffee. “I’m sorry, I just… needed time,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “After the photos, after all of it, I didn’t want to see anyone. Didn’t want anyone seeing me.”
Her expression softens immediately, the tension in her shoulders bleeding away. “I figured that might be it. I would’ve holed up too.”
I nod. “It wasn’t just embarrassing. It—” I cut myself off, forcingthe rest down. “It cracked something in me. I’ve been trying to piece it back together.”
Dakota shifts closer, offering me a candy bag she’s pulled out of her pocket. I take one so she doesn’t worry.
“I get it,” she says after a beat. “I wish I could’ve done more. I should’ve ripped those bastards apart.”
“You’ve done enough,” I say quietly. “Really. I just needed space to… recover.”
“And now?” she asks, watching me. “You back?”
“Trying to be.” I give a small, tired smile.
She flops back onto the couch with a sigh, her voice muffled by a throw pillow. “Good. Because if I have to keep pretending to be interested in Brynn’s conspiracy theories alone, I might actually snap.”
I laugh—really laugh this time. It feels like a bruise being pressed, but at least it’s real.
“Deal,” I say. “You bring the sarcasm, I’ll bring the snacks.”
“I’ll owe you.”
“You already do.”
I lean my head back against the couch, closing my eyes for a second. Just taking in this moment with my sister. Maeve has always been a sister, but now I have another.
Dakota sits up again after a moment, hugging a pillow to her chest, observing me. The laughter is gone from her eyes now, replaced with something softer. Hesitant.
“Iz,” she says, her voice quieter. “Can I ask you something?”
I nod slowly. “Yeah. What’s up?”
She picks at the seam of the pillow for a second before speaking. “Those photos. From… you know. I heard rumors. Everyone’s been saying awful things—half of them don’t even know what they’re talking about. But I didn’t want to listen to any of it. I wanted to hear it from you.”
My throat tightens. The room suddenly feels smaller.
Dakota doesn’t push. She just looks at me like she’s trying to leave the door open, not force me through it.
I stare at the floor. “It was real,” I say, barely above a whisper. “That was me. And it wasn’t a fall, or a fight I picked, or whatever version of events they’re telling themselves to make it easier to swallow.”
