Page 127 of Lured By Shadows

“What’re the plans for today?” I asked as I pulled the seatbelt across my lap and clicked it into place.

She glanced at me, amusement flickering across her face. “Don’t you still like surprises?”

I let out a long sigh and rested my head against the cool window, watching the world blur past outside.

“’Course I do,” I muttered, resignation softening the words despite the small smile tugging at my mouth. “Fine. Just surprise me, then.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said, satisfaction woven neatly into her tone. “You really did enjoy surprises when you were younger. I think it was the attention more than anything.”

I groaned and dropped my head back dramatically against the headrest.

“I can’t even argue with that, and I hate it,” I said before smirking at her. “It’s nice being pampered, though. Probably one of my favorite pastimes.”

“I think you get that from your father,” she laughed softly, shaking her head like she was trying to dislodge a memory that had surfaced without permission.

“It has to be,” I replied, lifting a brow. “Because you hate attention. Remember when Pa tried to surprise you with that vow renewal ceremony? All that planning behind your back?”

She huffed softly, the sound edged with old emotion, and nodded.

“Yes. One of the last things he tried doing before we ended things,” she murmured. “He really did try, all the way until the very end.”

There was heaviness behind her eyes, the kind carried by memories you never fully put down. I noticed it at once and reached over without thinking, resting my hand gently on her shoulder.

“He’s happy with Trist now, Ma. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

She smiled then, careful and practiced, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I put him through a lot,” she admitted with a shrug that tried to sound lighter than it was. “But you’re right. He’s truly blessed with Trist. She’s good for him.”

“Not long before Mae turns four,” I added quietly, picturing my little half-sister and the way she laughed like the world hadn’t taught her fear yet.

“She’s growing up so fast,” my ma said, warmth thickening her voice. “I can’t believe it’s been six years already.”

We turned a corner, the tires whispering against the pavement, and I let the silence settle for a moment before speaking again.

“It really was the best decision, Ma. For everyone. Especially for you.”

She hummed in agreement, the sound vibrating softly through her chest.

“You’re right,” she said slowly, as though letting each word settle into place. “I raised such a smart daughter.”

I giggled, flipping my hair over my shoulder. “Yes, you did.”

The heaviness faded as easily as it had arrived, and she shot me a mischievous look.

“Are you ready to have some fun?” I eyed her suspiciously.

“As long as we can’t die from it,” I muttered, suddenly very wary of her definition of fun.

“No, no dying,” she smirked. “But it is going to be violent.”

My mouth fell open. “What?!”

“You’ll see,” she sang, pressing the gas a little harder.

And see, we did.

She took me to one of those rage rooms, the kind where destruction wasn’t just allowed but actively encouraged. The kind where they handed you a sledgehammer and full permission to lose your mind for a little while. As she paid and accepted the room number, I side-eyed her, suspicion curling low in my gut.