“But it’s what I heard,” he says cheerfully, pivoting on his heel and heading toward the back of the house.
Glass doors open onto the gardens, and cool air rushes in. The grounds stretch wide. Paths curve through trimmed hedges and frosted flower beds, waiting for seeds and springtime. Reminds me of a simpler time.
Stan spins around with his arms out. “Isn’t it beautiful here? I’d help Kaye take care of it, but I’m pretty sure we kill plants by proxy.”
I stare at the sad-looking soil. Something as modest as dirt is making my ribs ache. “I don’t remember everything, but I think my sister used to have a decent green thumb.”
“Oh, we know.” Stan grins. “She has tons of great ideas to liven up the place.”
We walk deeper into the garden. Stan keeps talking, pointing things out with exaggerated commentary. More empty flower beds line the path. Benches sit half hidden beneath vines. A fountain gurgles close by, water trickling over carved stone.
Stan gestures at it. “That thing’s haunted.”
“Haunted?” I ask.
“Yeah, by unresolved sexual tension and poor life choices,” he says. “You stand near it too long and start questioning your morals. Also, how is it still on? It’s winter here. That thing should be frozen shut.”
I snort despite myself.
Then we reach the greenhouse.
It’s set all the way back, glass walls fogged up with light glowing from inside. I spot movement through the panes. A few shadowy figures moving around. My first thought’s staff. Damon mentioned them earlier. So did Kayla. But I haven’t seen too many inside since the jet landed.
Stan reaches for the handle. The door opens. Warmth spills out first. Damp air. The smell of earth and something sweet like tea and flowers.
Then I seeher.
Everything else vanishes away.
The glass walls. The plants. Stan’s voice trailing off in my ears. Kayla and Sterling standing on either side of her. None of it matters. There’s onlyher.
My sister.
Long brown hair pulled back loose. Deep brown eyes that find mine instantly.
She looks exactly how I’ve always remembered her. I don’t breathe. I don’t think I can.
“Calix,” she says, smiling right at me.
The sound of my real name hits me square in the chest. A shaky breath leaves my lips. My eyes sting. My lashes get wet.
That voice I tried to remember this morning—the warmth carried in calling me Calix—was hers.
She moves fast, crossing the space between us before my body remembers how to work. Her arms wrap around me, awfully warm and devastatingly familiar.
My body trembles. My face burns. My eyes shut. In my mind, I feel like I’m small again. So much younger. Feeling safe in a way I forgot existed.
I clutch her back without thinking, face buried in her hair. My chest caves in on itself. The pressure builds fast behind my eyes, but I fight it.
Tears spill anyway.
I laugh and choke on sobs at the same time, breath shuddering as I hold her. Right here. In my arms. And I’m in hers.
“Hey,” she murmurs, hands firm on my back. “It’s okay, Calix. You can cry.”
I nod against her, throat tight, body shaking with it. My vision blurs completely when I try to blink. I try to fight back a few more tears, but…
Who am I kidding? I let myself cry.
