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My mind makes rapid calculations across everything I know about Amethyst’s timeline. She joined the Greenbridge Academy for Behaviorally Challenged Girls ten years ago, just before turning fourteen.
Given that Melonie Crowley kept Amethyst at arm’s length, anything could have happened to her during that time. It’s not unusual for criminal enterprises like the Moirai to haunt boarding schools, looking to recruit children estranged from their parents.
“She killed the gladiator guy, and maimed the others,” the reverend says. “And stabbed the next one in a dystopian-themed movie. After that, Delta must have decided to keep her alive because they stopped trying to kill her.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I ask.
“She got cut, but that was it.”
A sickening wave of heat rolls through my gut. He’s talking about Dolly, but every instinct tells me he’s describing my Amethyst. All of it—the mutilations, the fights, the blood. They did that to her. A girl who was barely more than a child. My chest tightens until I can’t breathe.
Oh, my darling girl… what did they do to you?
Sorrow hits like a knife to the heart, sharp and devastating. I can see her now, young, covered in blood, fighting for her life. How could she even survive? How could anyone? And then—just as fast—the sorrow gives way to rage. Hot and pulsing and so blinding I could burn the world to ease her pain.
They did this to her, and I wasn’t there to stop it. Every fiber in my being screams for vengeance. For her.
My brow pinches as I force down the emotion, trying to hold on to reason. Amethyst wrote about having to stay in school during most vacations, but she never mentioned any traumatic experiences outside that music teacher.
“Fuck,” Jynxson says.
“When did she stop appearing in these videos?” I ask, my voice brimming with rage.
He coughs. “I don’t know… Three or four years ago? They say she became a director.”
I shake my head, not believing a single word, even though the priest shows no sign of deception. But could there be another side to Amethyst—someone hidden, like Jynxson suggested? Is there a part of her I haven’t seen?
“Why can’t we find her videos advertised on the site?” I ask.
“Old content gets pulled, so new members don’t get to join for a month, stream the entire archive and leave,” he replies. “But if you want to see them, I made screen recordings on my phone. They’re in my study at the vicarage.”
“Jynxson?” I ask.
He makes a right. “Already on my way.”
“Why did you attack her on camera?” I ask.
“It wasn’t like that. I didn’t target her. I thought she’d retired, so I wanted to give her privacy.”
“Answer the fucking question,” I growl.
“They were calling for auditions for the next movie. When she appeared in the vicarage, I thought she’d come to check my worth.”
I slam another fist into his face. This time, Jynxson doesn’t object. Over the drive across town, Father Thomas reveals that X-Cite Media is a private members’ club that offers subscriptions for thousands of dollars a month.
Members access months of content that’s streamed to the public for nearly a hundred dollars an hour. Piracy is expressly forbidden, and Lizzie Bath’s use of my execution video—which she’d screen-recorded to use as a background on her video—was what led to her abduction. Her fate was a public punishment for daring to pirate X-Cite Media content.
I shake my head, my fists trembling with the force of my rage. Rage at the members for buying into such wanton depravity. Rage at Delta for a catalog of atrocities that would take a lifetime to list. Rage at myself for wasting time punishing Amethyst, when I should have been keeping her safe.
But under that rage, there’s something worse—sorrow. My chest tightens at the thought of her as a broken girl, the things they made her endure.
If what the reverend says is true, then Amethyst must have escaped Delta and returned to her mother, only to spend the next few years in a drug-induced haze. Perhaps Dr. Saint suppressed those traumatic memories with medication and even more rounds of electroconvulsive therapy.
But that doesn’t explain the lack of scars. The thick ones across her belly are consistent with a car accident… or a single attack.
Amethyst exposed herself across social media with my fan club, not realizing Delta wanted her back. Father must have arranged that disgusting gang-rape to trigger her into a murderous rage.
It partially explains why she murdered her mother and uncle. But I don’t understand the scene at the airport. Was Amethyst deciding to rejoin the devil she knew?
