Security footage leading up to both penthouses shows two dark figures, likely a tall, broad man and a smaller woman, dressed in black, making their way to the elevators. They don’t seem to be wearing head or face coverings, but for some reason, the footage shows something like dark smudges or shadows across their faces, making them unidentifiable. Neither were shown leaving the building.
I cover my eyes with my hands. Though my overly analytical brain never shuts off, I just need to quiet my thoughts for a moment. Just a moment, while I process the godless scenes I’ve witnessed tonight.
“Hey, sis.”
I snap my head up, heart suddenly pounding. Walking toward me out of the foggy shadows is my sister Sazahn.
My mouth drops open. I didn’t even hear her. What’s she doing here?
“S-Sazahn?” I stammer. “What are you doing here?”
She walks right up to me, and it’s all I can do to not take an instinctive step back. I’m leaning against my car anyway, so I wouldn’t get very far. But the urge to move away from her confuses me. Upsets me.
This is the first time I’ve laid eyes on her since the massacre. She refused to see me, stating that she needed time to process her trauma. I didn’t push, but it stings. When I went by her apartment out of desperation one day, no one came to the door. It’s been a wonder that I can even get her to call me back.
She looks the same—same long dark hair, same golden olive skin. Same size, which is good. I was afraid that she might not be eating, but she looks to be the same weight. In fact, she might be a little heavier—healthy, as if she’s eating nourishing meals on a regular basis and maybe even working out. She looks strong.
Still, there’s something off about her. She’s my sister I’ve known since we met in our abusive foster home as children.
But she’s not the same woman at all.
“I was in the area,” she replies softly, smiling. “I heard all the commotion. Was curious. I’m happy to see you.”
“I—yeah,” I say lamely. “I’m happy to see you too.”
She tilts her head, a smooth, slow movement, almost like a predator. “You don’t look very happy.”
“Well, it’s not exactly a great time,” I say. “I just—the scene I just came from, it…” I press my lips together.
Sazahn nods with those same curious, fluid movements. “I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, well. Part of the job, I guess. The, uh, vic happens to be the main suspect in my homicide case, actually.”
“Really?” She lifts her eyebrows. “What a coincidence.”
Her tone is sincere, and she’s saying all the right things, but I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t genuine.
“Sazahn, what’s going on?” I blurt. “Where have you been? I’ve been so fucking worried about you, and all of a sudden here you are. Out of the blue. And—and you look amazing. I thought I’d find you to be skin and bones and hooked on drugs or something.”
Her lips quirk with amusement. “You’re upset with me for being well?”
“No, of course not. I just… Why did you shut me out?” I can’t keep the hurt out of my tone.
Her amusement fades. “Cynthia, I’m sorry. After the shooting, things were pretty difficult for me. I had to go and clean myself up. I wasn’t at home.”
“That’s why you didn’t come to the door,” I say. “You weren’t even living there.”
“No, I wasn’t. I was somewhere getting the help I needed.”
“Where was that?” I’m familiar with the various clinics and hospitals and halfway houses in Draco City. I’m sure I would have heard she was at one of them if that was the case.
She gives me an enigmatic smile. “Someplace special.”
“Okay, fine, you won’t tell me. At least… You look like you’ve been taking care of yourself.”
“I have been,” she says, nodding. “You don’t need to worry. This is the best I’ve ever felt in my entire life.”
“Have—have you been working anywhere?”