She scoffed, a slight snort of pure amusement. “Don’t pretend to know me.”
“But I do.” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “When you meet enough people, you’ve met them all. And I’ve had my fair share of the likes of you, dear Phoebe.”
“Youthinkyou do, which is your mistake,” she snapped. “You thought you knew Alina too.”
“I was wrong,” I said steadily. “We aren’t perfect.”
“And it cost you an eye.” Her hands clenched. “Watch yourself before you lose the other.”
“What kind of leader bullies one of the most useful members of their Nest?” I rose from my chair, and some of the girls seated on the floor made room in case I stepped forward. “She’s a nurse, she earns more than any singular job any of you have, and has real, useful knowledge that benefitseveryone.”
“I have no room for incompetence. None of us do.”
“Do you really believe that? Or do you just crave Alina’s approval?”
She laughed, glancing down. “Is that really a question?”
“Is her friendship not enough for you that you must sabotage any of her other relationships?” I stepped forward, and the girls moved away, like our presence was lined with needles, quick to move so as not to be pricked.
Phoebe stepped back. “Nothing comes close to our bond.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Excuse me?”
“Being the only one who hasn’t had her heart?”
She stepped back again, and I matched in pace.
“Does it hurt knowing that you will always be the last choice?”
Her back hit the wall, her foot knocking against the umbrella holder.
“How does it feel to know she fell for my mirage before she ever thought of you as more than a rug?”
A prominent click, then a long, hard barrel shoved at my chest, the sawed-off shotgun retrieved from the umbrella holder.
“Keep going; I’ve been itching for a reason to kill you,” Phoebe spoke low, her eyes filling with blood, though in the dark her eyes were nearly a void.
“Phoebe!” Rebecca shouted from behind me.
Shuffling from the girls behind us as they scrambled, not wanting to be in the line of fire.
“Who is this?” A smirk pulled at my lip, and a drop of blood from my eye landed on the barrel. “I don’t believe I’ve met the woman before me.”
If it weren’t for her breathing, I’d easily mistake this stillness for a statue. Even with quick breaths, her weapon and eyes were steady. I fully believed that if it weren’t for the others in the room, I would have had a hole in me.
I put my hands up, taking a few steps back. “I recognize you now.” I chose my words carefully. “That’s your father in you. You look like him more and more every day.”
“You confuse me with my brother, old man.”
“Am I, though?”
She pulled the trigger pointed at my foot, and I jumped back.
“You missed.”
“I don’t miss,” she said sternly, “that was a warning.” She shoved past me, smelling of gunpowder and peonies, and headed for the stairs with her smoking gun in hand.
