Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
TALON
I wake up with my jaw tight, my throat dry, and a bruise forming on my ego the size of Florida.
It takes me a solid ten seconds to remember why I feel like I lost a fight.
Penelope.
Silas.
Gideon.
The way they walked her out like they were her personal bodyguards and I was the idiot kid who couldn’t be trusted not to break a lamp.
And underneath all that?
My mom.
Her voice from last night is still stuck in my head like gum on my shoe.
“She knows too much. We buried that once.”
“She misread the situation.”
“She can’t come home.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and exhale through my teeth.
Minxy.
Something happened. Something she’s covering up. And now Penelope is walking straight into the same family web without knowing any of it.
Awesome. Great. Love that for me.
I roll out of bed, scrub a hand through my hair, and pull on a shirt.
I almost forgot that I spent the night at the house last night after the party.
I wanted to keep an eye on my mom, so I drank too many cocktails and slept here.
The house is too bright, too clean, too expensive.
It feels like a hotel lobby with better landscaping.
Mom’s already in the kitchen.
Of course she is.
She’s dressed for Pilates or brunch or whatever rich-woman activity lets her wear a matching set that costs more than my books this semester.
Her hair is pinned flawlessly, makeup fresh.
She’s humming while she scrolls through her phone, sipping cucumber water like she didn’t spend last night lying through her veneers.
She looks up when she notices me.
“Oh, good morning.” Her smile is warm. Perfect. Fake.
“Morning,” I mutter. “Where’s Chad?”
“He’s out having a boys’ day with some old friends. I think he said rugby or lacrosse? I don’t know.”
“Sounds fun,” I reply, thinking of Chad covered in mud and bruises from playing a contact sport.
“You were a hit last night,” she goes on, rinsing a glass. “Everyone kept asking about you.”
“Yeah,” I say flatly. “I bet.”
She tilts her head, studying my face. “Something wrong?”
I think about telling her what’s wrong or throwing her phone into the garbage disposal.
But I swallow it down. “Just tired.”
My mom watches me a second too long, then shrugs lightly. “Well, get some rest today. We have tux fittings tomorrow.”
“We’re doing fittings?” I ask.
“Of course,” she says. “Family must look presentable at weddings.”
She moves toward me and pats my cheek like I’m eight instead of almost twenty. I fight the urge to recoil.
“Try not to sulk,” she says sweetly. “It makes you look like your father.”
I let her walk past me and watch as she heads down the hall and upstairs.
But when she turns the corner, her phone rings, and the minute she says hello her voice changes.
Not sweet.
Not soft.
Not even pretending anymore.
Just sharp, low, irritated.
I follow the sound.
Not too close. Just enough to hear.
She’s in her room with the door cracked, talking to someone in that clipped whisper she uses when she’s losing control.
“…I don’t care what she said,” she hisses. “If she starts remembering again, we have a problem.”
My stomach drops.
She continues.
“No,” she says. “She cannot come home. Absolutely not. Keep her there. Do you understand me? She stays put until this wedding is done.”
I inch closer.
There’s a rustle of papers. A drawer opening. A hand slamming it shut.
“Just keep an eye on her. If she tries to leave campus again, I want a call immediately. If she reveals anything she thinks she saw…” Another pause, softer, darker, “we will deal with it.”
A beat passes.
“I am not losing another husband over this.”
The hair on the back of my neck stands up.
Another.
Not the first.
Not the last.
Her voice drops even lower. “You get paid to keep this quiet. So do it.”
She ends the call.
I step back just as she opens the door. She doesn’t see me—she wipes her expression clean, slides on her perfect smile, and pulls out her lipstick like she didn’t just threaten someone.
She walks past humming again.
My pulse is a jackhammer.
Minxy saw something. Something dangerous. Something she “buried.”
And Mom’s not just hiding her because she’s a nuisance—she’s hiding her because she’s a threat.
I grab the wall and breathe once. Twice.
Then my phone vibrates.
A message from Gideon.
Gideon: We’re taking care of her today. She’s safe. We’ll talk soon.
I stare at the screen.
Something in my chest loosens.
Me: We need to talk about Mom and Minxy. She’s covering something up. Call me.
The message sends. No read receipt. I shove my phone in my pocket and look down the hallway where Mom disappeared.
Penelope left last night with two men she trusts.
Fine. Good. Because she’s going to need them. And I’m going to need them too.
Mom thinks she can bury this forever.
She’s wrong.
Her heels click on the floor near the foyer. I freeze mid-step. She’s talking to herself as she goes, the same irritated tone she uses with customer service reps or service staff who don’t jump fast enough.
The breezeway door opens and then shuts, and the garage door hums to life. I bolt for the nearest window like I’m twelve again, checking if she’s finally gone so I can breathe.
Through the blinds, I watch her car back out perfectly centered between the hedges she makes the gardener trim twice a week. She doesn’t even glance at the house, just puts the car in drive and glides down the driveway like she owns the whole neighborhood.
When her taillights disappear past the gate, something in my chest unclenches.
Good. She’s gone.
I don’t waste a second; I bolt for her bedroom. It still smells like her perfume—sharp citrus and vanilla glossed over by money.
Her dresser is a shrine to control. Organized piles. Color-coded calendars. A small stack of papers on the right.
I scan the open papers first. Financials, school invoices, receipts.
Minxy’s school name at the top: St. Helen’s Institute for Girls.
A place I’ve never been allowed to visit. There’s a sheet clipped to the invoice—a disciplinary note:
Unauthorized phone call. Subject contacted family. Redirected to counselor. Follow-up recommended.
My breath goes shallow.
This is about our call. No wonder her voice sounded weird on that last call. I flip through more pages until I find something that makes my blood freeze.
A list. A goddamn list. Students flagged for “behavioral irregularities” and Minxy’s name is highlighted.
Below it: Witnessed incident. Unverified. Uncontrolled speech when stressed. Requires monitoring.
They’re not schooling her. They’re suppressing her.
I stand back, pulse hammering. I need help. Not just any help.
My uncles.
I grab my phone before I can talk myself out of it.
I text Silas first.
Me: We need to talk. Now. It’s about my mom and Minxy. I found something in her bedroom.
He replies faster than I can blink.
Silas: Where are you?
Me: At her house. I stayed here last night after the party. She just left.
Silas: Stay put. Don’t confront her. Don’t do anything. Gideon and I are talking to Penelope. We’ll call you soon.
Before I can react, Gideon texts too.
Gideon: You’re not in trouble. We’re going to handle this. But you need to tell us everything.
My throat tightens.
Me: I heard her last night. She’s hiding something. I think Minxy saw something. I think my mom… It’s bad. Just call me.
Three dots appear. Then disappear. Then appear again.
Gideon: We’re on our way. Do not leave the house.
I drop onto Abi’s expensive rug and stare at the highlighted notes until the words blur.
Penelope, Silas, and Gideon are all tangled in this now or about to be. I think I’m relieved. Because for the first time since I was younger, I’m not alone. I look back at Minxy’s name.
Whatever happened before… Whatever she saw… Whatever our mom “buried”...
I’m done letting this family pretend it didn’t exist.