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I knew this panic would eat me alive, so I soothed Haley's stab of worry at seeing me leave by telling her I was going to the kitchen for a drink, and instead went in search of Harvey.
I was worried about my brother. He'd been more closed off from me the past three days since Haley came back to life, and I knew it was because his emotions were huge and vicious right now. Mine were, too. If we spoke about them, maybe we could fix it? Or maybe I was a fool. My optimism should have been slaughtered by the titan decades ago, but spending this time with Haley had renewed it, like it had only been hibernating.
Maybe Haley was right and we would live happily ever after. Gods knew we deserved it.
"Harvey?" I asked, pushing open the kitchen door and peering inside. Except for soup bubbling away in a pot, it was empty. I checked the soup wasn't about to burn and left the room, heading upstairs after searching all the rooms on this floor.
I brushed my fingers over the spiral hilt of the dagger Haley gave me, strength infusing me, filling my lungs with air. You're safe, and I'll always protect you—but you can use the knife to stab your enemies in the throat yourself. You're a badass, too. She'd never know how important those words were, and how badly I'd needed to hear them.
My head snapped up when quick movement blurred through my peripheral, and my brows slammed down at the sight of Verena sprinting from her room to the bathroom.
"Verena?" I asked, quickening my pace to catch up to the girl.
She didn't stop to glare at me or even give me a sassy look; she darted into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.
"Are you okay?" I called through the door, instantly concerned. Verena was confrontational, not evasive, so something had to be badly wrong.
"Go away," she replied, but her sharp tongue was noticeably absent.
"I'm not going anywhere," I said firmly. "Tell me what's wrong."
If the titan had got to her, I'd kill him. If any one of our family had upset her, I'd give them a black eye.1
When Verena said nothing, worry tightened my heart.
"If you tell me, I can help, Verena," I said gently, watching the dark door for any hint that it might open.
"It's none of your business," she muttered. "Go away."
"Do you want me to get Haley?"
"No!" She sounded panicked.
If we weren't still in the awkward getting-used-to-each-other phase, I'd have used a shadow to break the lock and burst inside, but this wasn't Haley. Verena was a teenager, a young girl who barely knew me. Breaking the door would terrify her and I’d seem like a threat. So I hovered outside the door, prepared to stay for as long as it took.
"I'm not going anywhere," I told her, shadows flickering at my shoulders as nerves mounted. "If you don't want me to get Haley, tell me what's wrong."
She let out a throaty growl that I suspected only teenagers could make, equally deep and high pitched. "Fine! I started my period, okay? Are you happy now?"
I exhaled a rough breath, my shoulders slumping. That was all? "There's a shelf next to the toilet with purple, flowery bags on them." Because Wynvail had unleashed his interior decorating eye even on sanitary products. "Can you see them?"
"Yes," she breathed, relief in her voice until she let out a squeak I suspected I wasn't supposed to hear. "What the fuck is this? This is a goddamn torture device!"
My lips quirked, a smile fighting to come through. "Let me in, Verena. I'll help you find them."
"No," she muttered.
"Do you need help?"
There was a long pause, and then she begrudgingly answered, "Yes."
I sent a thin tendril of shadow through the crack between the door and the frame and used it to twist the fancy lock on the doorknob. The best we'd had before was a deadbolt on the bathroom door and it didn’t keep any of us out; that had been chaotic as fuck.
I quickly assessed the situation. Verena stood by the window with one of those thin stick things in her hand, her face so pale her freckles stood out darkly.
"You don't have to use them," I assured her, grabbing the other bag and unzipping it. "We have these, too. What do you usually use?"
Verena snatched the plastic-wrapped, modern-day rag out of my hand, clutching it to her chest. The tips of her ears turned pink, her eyes shifting around the room, not meeting mine. "I don't," she bit out.
