I glance at Glory. She’s slumped, bleeding, and fighting unconsciousness. But Charlie is still out cold.
My stomach turns.
Mama’s right.Fuck. She’s right, we shouldn’t have punished her like this.
Charlie groans, soft and wet like her throat’s full of blood. Her body twitches, and my pulse spikes, terror tearing through me.
All I can see are her bruises now. The split in her lip. Her right eye, swelling fast. And everything in me goes quiet. There’s no rage. No excuses.
Just pure shame.
“Infirmary,” I murmur almost to myself, my voice hoarse.
Then I turn and jog back to the corridor. “Prospect!” I bark. “NOW.”
One of the boys sprints down the hall. He’s barely out of breath when he shows up. My mother throws me a look of gratitude and… disappointment. But I can’t think about that right now.
“Take Charlie to the infirmary.”
He nods, but roughly reaches under her arms and jerks her body up like she’s a ragdoll.
Mama gasps beside me.
“Gentler!” I hiss, grabbing his cut harshly. “Pick her up properly.”
His face drains white as he nods. He mumbles a stuttering apology, then scoops her up bridal-style. I move in, adjusting her head on his shoulder. She winces, and it’s like a knife in my ribs.
The sharp stab of guilt is now a throbbing pulse, bone-deep. But I swallow it and push it down.
Mama brushes past me, trailing behind them as they disappear down the hall.
And I’m still standing there. Staring at the empty chair where Charlie was. Where I put her.
As did her own brother.
??????
Glory’s passed out now, so I leave her there. I can’t look at her. Can’t feel anything except this dull drum of guilt in my chest. She’s the reason we were so quick to jump to punishment.
I head straight for the infirmary. I need Charlie to be awake. To talk. To fix this, somehow.
Christ. This was too harsh a punishment. We should’ve taken the money back—which we already fucking did—and banished them both. Simple and clean.
But no, we had to go nuclear.
Add to that, there’s this slow, simmering confusion and doubt building in my chest. Lodging deep and stealing my ability to breathe properly.
I’m at the door when I hear voices. Low. Sharp. Mama’s. And the other one, Wolf.
I push the door open as quietly as I can.
She’s standing near the foot of Charlie’s bed, spine stiff, arms folded like she’s about to smack someone again. Her voice’s a low growl. “You should know better than to do this to your own sister.”
“I know, Aunt Deb, but we think—”
“Shut up, Dane. Just shut up and look at her,” she snaps, not even looking at him. “Look.”
He does, wincing, like the sight of her hurts him.
