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“Geez, I’m not that bad.”

“You once left your own birthday dinner to unclog a tenant’s sink.”

I folded my arms.

Grandma smiled. “Sloane made you human.”

“She’s the human.”

“That’s why it’s funny.”

Despite everything, I laughed. It felt strange after days without it.

Grandma squeezed my arm. “She got you to rest. To dance. To let your brothers grow. To accept that people could love you without requiring perfection.”

“She also lied.”

“Yes.” The answer contained no argument. Only acknowledgment.

I finished my soup and went home. For the first time since Sloane tore out of here, I didn’t find another task. I ate dinner. Filled the flowered water bottle. Turned off my phone.

Then I slept.

When I woke, sunlight had crossed half the bedroom floor. I stared at it, disoriented. The clock read ten forty-seven.

I sat up.

I hadn’t slept that late in years. My phone showed forty-three notifications. Most were from THE PACK. None were from Sloane.

I shook my head. She had been removed.

The reminder stung.

I opened the chat. Trevor had begun the conversation shortly after eight.

Trevor: i miss sloane

Six minutes passed before another message.

Trevor: she always liked my art

Byron: She liked you.

Trevor: that too

Trevor: but she actually looked at my projects and asked questions

Trevor: most of you just say “interesting”

Byron: Some of it is difficult to interpret.

Trevor: IT WAS A MUSHROOM BUSINESSMAN

Trevor: sloane said it had narrative depth

Patty: She made people feel noticed.

Patty: Even when she was scared, she paid attention.