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She looks at me, a thoughtful expression on her face. “I was just thinking about Ariana and Stella. How lucky I am that I grew up close to my siblings.”

Even though I’m sure she doesn’t mean it that way, her comment slices right through the stitches barely holding me together, severing the sutures and cracking my pain wide open all over again.

“You miss them,” I note, letting my hand fall to my side.

She nods. “Always. Ari has a recital coming up soon, and it kills me that I’ll have to miss it.” She gives me a sidelong glance as if gauging my reaction. I aim for mild, at best. “Not that I don’t enjoy Aplana. Honestly, it’s been so refreshing, in the weirdest way, even though I live as a captive now.”

“You’re not—”

Giggling, she curls her legs up, shaking her head. The gesture seems fake. Forced. And it makes me uneasy. “It’s okay, I’ve already grown quite accustomed to my Stockholm Syndrome. I just miss my old life a little, too.”

Gritting my teeth, I stare at the place on an end table where the picture of her parents and I used to be, wondering if I’m really about to say what my brain wants me to. The words formulate on my tongue, ignoring all the red flags, and shoot out of my mouth before I have a chance to stop them.

“Then let’s go to Boston.”

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