Chapter 1

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[THIS STORY WILL BE TAKEN DOWN ON SEPTEMBER 30, 2024]


12 Years Earlier

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12 Years Earlier

I was sprawled out on a Persian rug on my front. My nine-year-old brother, Jett, sat cross-legged across from me on a bean bag, an elbow on his thigh, chin cupped in his hand. We were in our rumpus room, filled with toys and games, and a collection of mismatched furniture and cushions from various time periods—once elegant and refined and now thoroughly abused by me and my brothers. The sticky summery heat slunk in through the open doors and sunshine blazed through the bank of ceiling-to-floor windows.

The clatter and murmur of the everyday life of our House drifted inside to compete against the music playing in the background: the clash of steel on steel; the barked commands of our Weapons Master; and staff hurrying past on their various tasks.

We could have shut up the room and had cool air-conditioning pour through, but I liked the summery heat too much. Both of us were dressed in loose t-shirts and shorts. A silver tray holding a jug of lemonade and snacks sat beside me and I reached for my glass, sipping at the refreshing liquid, its sweet tartness spilling down my throat. Swiping my lip free from moisture with my thumb, I considered my next question, before shooting my brother a sharp look. "Do you wear glasses?"

He tipped his head to the side, squinting back at me, and his long black hair grazed past his shoulders. "Do I look like I fucking wear glasses?" he shot back, his young voice squeaky, then cut a furtive glance over his shoulder to see if anyone, like our mother, had walked in and overheard his curse.

"Right now, yeah you do." I waved a hand at him, grinning. "You've got a pretty little hat on and a blue shirt of some kind."

The beanbag Jett sat on crinkled with the slight movement as he straightened, pretending to look affronted. "No. I'm not wearing glasses."

I flipped the tabs down on the board in front of me, pursing my mouth to the side. Not Asami or Michelle then...that just leaves...Zara, Cristina, or Leona. "Your turn."

Jett squiggled as he considered his options, then glanced up. His violet eyes were narrowed and shrewd. "Are you bald?"

Godsdammit!

"Yes," I gritted out.

A smarmy grin was plastered over his face, showing teeth too big for his mouth, as he quickly flicked down the tabs on his board.

Bobbing my head to the music flowing from the media system, Electric Feel by MGMT, I plucked at the soft threads of the rug while thinking about which of the three women remaining on the board of Guess Who? it could be. Just what set them apart. Running through the options in my head. Leona wore a necklace... Zara has red lipstick... And Cristina has—

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