CHAPTER 13

TYRA

"Where's my hoodie?" Tiana's voice is soft, almost hesitant.

It's been three days since she woke up from her coma, and today is the first time the doctors have let her truly rest, trusting that her body can finally fend for itself. This is also the first time she's spoken to me since then.

"Are you cold? Do you want a hoodie? I can get-" I begin, but she cuts me off with a quiet laugh.

"No, you dolt. My hoodie. The purple one you took and went around telling everyone I gave to you."

Her laugh is warm, but I freeze. Embarrassment creeps up my neck. That was years ago, just a few months after I'd been adopted, fresh out of therapy to help me process my trauma. I had tried to talk to Tiana back then, but she had been so cold, so distant. When the kids at school found out she despised me and that I was adopted, I became the perfect target for bullying. I hadn't met Sydney yet—if I had, she would've knocked them all out for me—so I relied on what I knew best: Faux confidence with a touch of manipulation.

That night, I climbed onto her balcony from mine, just below hers. Being small meant I had plenty of experience with climbing. She was at tutoring that evening, so her room was empty—an open opportunity. I stole the hoodie she wore every day, the one everyone knew was designer, the one I couldn't even pronounce the brand of. When I walked into class the next day with it draped over my school shirt, I didn't have to say a word. Just like that, I was no longer the outsider. I was the adopted girl whose older sister had given her something special.

And it worked. I was never bullied again. But I never gave the hoodie back, and Tiana never asked. I thought she must've assumed she misplaced it.

But now—now she's asking. She knew all along. My cheeks burn, my stomach twists. How could I have been so foolish?

"I'm sorry for taking it," I murmur. "I was being bullied, and I just—"

"Girl, you wish."

"What?" I blink at her, confused.

"You really think you took it?" She smirks. "You really think you broke into my room and stole my clothes?"

I hesitate. "I mean… yeah?"

She shakes her head, still smirking. "I knew the whole time, Tyra. And not just the hoodie. The jewelry, the shoes, every single thing you thought you stole?" She leans in closer. "I let you."

I stare at her. The words don't compute. "You… what?"

She exhales, her smirk fading. "I knew you were getting bullied. I wanted to help you, but I couldn't let myself get attached. Not again. It's why my balcony door was always unlocked. Why there were clothes, books, and money waiting for you. I couldn't be there for you the way I wanted to. But I still tried. I left you pieces of me instead."

I feel like the air has been stolen from my lungs. I thought I was stealing acceptance, stealing belonging. But she was giving it to me all along.

Tears blur my vision. "Tiana…"

She looks down, swallowing hard. "There was someone before you."

I don't move. I don't breathe.

"He was there before I was born," she whispers. "A boy. One of my parents'… assignments. He was ten when I was born. He loved me like a real sister. He was my real brother. When my parents left for weeks, he was there. When I started school, he was there. He was even there when I got my period for the first time. He freaked out, screaming that I was dying, and I laughed so hard I thought my ribs would crack."

She pauses, a shaky breath escaping. "He was everything my parents weren't. I loved him. I loved him so much."

I can't look at her. The pain in her voice is unbearable. And worse—the envy clawing at my chest makes me feel sick.

"And then when I was eight," she continues, her voice barely audible, "they made him sign it. They made him hand over his family's wealth. His family—who they murdered."

My stomach churns. I already know where this is going, but I don't want to hear it. I don't want her to say it.

"And once they had it," she chokes out, "they made me… I killed him."

The room tilts. My heart stops. "Tiana…"

"They put the weapon in my hands. He was unconscious. They told me if I did it, they'd love me. They told me he wasn't one of us. And I believed them. I believed their stupid, disgusting lies." Her sobs shake her body. "And I did it. I killed him."

"Tiana, stop," I plead, gripping her hands. "It wasn't your fault. You were a child—"

She shakes her head violently. "That's why I stayed away from you. I couldn't do it again, Tyra. I couldn't relive that pain."

"Tiana, none of this was your fault," I whisper through my own tears, but I know words won't erase the weight she's been carrying for years.

She suddenly grabs my shoulders, her eyes wild with desperation. "Tyra, you need to leave. They'll come for you. They'll find me first. They'll kill me to silence me. And then they'll come for you. You need to run."

I shake my head. "No."

"There's a box I gave you earlier. It has everything you need to learn the truth. Just take it and leave. Don't tell anyone. Not even Janet and Jane. They don't know half of what they're getting into."

Her words press against my ribs, trying to crush me, trying to make me obey. But I won't. I can't.

"Tiana, they'll have to go through me first." I grip her hands tighter. "I'm not leaving you."

Her expression crumbles. She hugs me fiercely, and I cling to her, our tears mixing.

"I love you, Tyra," she whispers, and my heart nearly stops at the words I've longed to hear my whole life.

"I love you too," I breathe.

We hold each other for what feels like forever. Then a nurse enters.

She isn't Dr. Ngozi. She isn't familiar. She's tall and thin, with something about her that makes my skin crawl. Tiana releases me and lies back, drifting into sleep almost instantly, her hands still clasped in mine. Her snores return—a sound that has become oddly comforting, proof that she's still breathing, still fighting.

"Dr. Ngozi sent me to change her IV fluids," the nurse says with a polite smile, rolling up her sleeve slightly as she adjusts the bag. My stomach turns. A small tattoo on her wrist—a mark I've seen before. It's the same logo on the box Tiana gave me.

I barely register the needle piercing the IV bag, the subtle press of a syringe. Tiana's fingers twitch in mine. She's out of the room now.

Then—

Silence.

No snores.

No heartbeat.

Just silence.

Tiana was dead.