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Or if it was even possible.

Their dad couldn’t have known and done nothing, right?

Will they tell him I’m here?

Would he look at me the same way they did when he found out?

Anger flares then—hot and ugly and aimed squarely at the woman who’s not here to answer for any of it. You should’ve told them, I think bitterly. You should’ve told me. Instead, you dropped this on me like a last confession and left me to clean up the mess.

My throat burns and my eyes sting.Everything feels too full, too loud, like my own head is closing in on me.

“Fuck this,” I mutter, pushing to my feet.

God I was stupid for thinking I could just show up and everything would make sense. Thinking blood would mean something. I mean, it's not like I had any say in any of it. I was lied to, and kept from the truth just as much as they were.

I strip out of my clothes, open my backpack and pull on an outfit that makes me feel like myself instead of someone’s unwanted secret. An olive crop top that bares my stomach, and some denim shorts that fit like armor. I slide on my wedge heels I bought at a cute thrift shop back home. They’re nothing fancy but I don’t care, they’re comfortable and I’m not much of a stiletto girl.

In the mirror, I do my makeup fast and heavy enough to feel like a shield. Dark liner and my favorite cherry gloss. I shake my hair loose and let it fall around my shoulders, wild and familiar. The girl staring back at me looks confident. Defiant. Like she doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks.

Good.

I grab my keys and head for the door, heart pounding, and emotions buzzing under my skin like exposed wire. There’s a bar down the street. Close enough to walk to and the type of place where one can disappear into dim lights, loud music and strangers won’t ask me where I’m from or why I’m here.

I don’t want to think anymore tonight.

I want a beer, noise, and someone else’s body close enough to drown out the regret and leave me numb.

Chapter Two

Draygon

DO I WANNA KNOW - ARCTIC MONKEYS

This bar isn’t the kind of place you wander into by accident.

You either come here because you’re looking for something, or because you don’t want to be found.

It’s tucked a few blocks inland in Ybor, far enough from the water that the tourists don’t drift this way, but close enough that when the door opens, you still catch a trace of salt in the air. The place is called The Cinder Block. Brick exterior and small narrow windows. A hand-painted sign bolted over the door like it’s been holding that spot longer than most of the people drinking inside.

Inside, the floors are warped and permanently fucking sticky at this point. The walls are layered in old band posters and faded flyers, corners curling over each other like the past never really left. The lights are low and yellowed, dim enough that no one’s really looking at anyone unless they decide to.

Which is exactly why Omen picked it.

I’m at a scarred wooden table near the back with my brother, Omen, and his girlfriend, Isla. Three beers sweating slow circles into the surface. Nobody here knows us and no one is trying to. Everyone’s too busy with their own mess.

That’s the beauty of places like this.

You don’t have to be anyone.

The bartender doesn’t talk much. Just slides beers down the counter, nods once if you make eye contact, moves on. No small talk. No questions. I respect that.

Omen leans back in his chair like he’s relaxed, but I know better. His eyes track the room without looking like they are. Habit. You don’t spend your life stepping into volatile situations and just… turn it off.

Isla sits close to him, her thigh brushing his. She doesn’t scan the room as obviously, but she sees everything. Same as him. They leave tonight, and for them, this is the perfect kind of place.

Low lights. Cheap beer. No one paying any real fucking attention.

It’s a good place for a quiet goodbye.