Page 33 of A Pack of Lies and a Big Bad Wolf

"I don't know where she is."

"That's not what I asked." She pushes herself up on the pillows and bats my hand away when I reach for her. "Stop hovering. I'm not dying. I was never dying. I was depleted, which is a completely different thing, and which would not have happened at all if you'd let me finish one sentence in your office three weeks ago."

I take a deep, painful breath. I nearly killed my sister with my stubbornness. "I know."

"I don't think you do, so I'm going to spell it out, and you're going to sit there and take it, because you owe me that and also because I'm your older sister."

"By four minutes."

"Four very formative minutes. Now shut up." She holds up three fingers. "Three healers. Me, Peyton, Gemma. Linked together, sharing the energy drain so no single healer bears the full load. That's what 'if the three of us' meant. Nobody burns out, nobody collapses. I had a safe plan and you slammed the door on it. So I did it alone, and yes, I pushed too hard, and I'll take my scolding for that. But you forced me underground, and underground is where people get hurt." She fixes me with a stare. "You didn't cause what happened to Mom. But you caused what happened to me."

I don't have anything to say to that, because it's true, and she knows it's true, and sitting on the floor being right is apparently not enough for her because she keeps going.

"And Olivia didn't know. She didn't know, and Stephen didn't know. I lied to everyone. So whatever you said to her while you were busy demolishing the kitchen—"

"I accused her of being in on it. Of lying to me. Of helping you hide it." I pause. "While she was kneeling in broken glass telling me you were breathing."

"Of course you did." She gives me the look she's been giving me since we were nine — the one that says I love you and you are exhausting. "Kieran. That woman walked into your power. Dishes were flying and glass was everywhere and nobody else in that room moved, and she crawled through it and grabbed your face. And you accused her of lying and ran away."

"I didn't run away. I made a strategic exit."

"On all fours. With your tail out."

"My tail was not—" I stop, because she's almost smiling, and I've missed that smile for two days, and arguing about my tail is not a productive use of this conversation. "Fine. I ran away."

"Go find her and fix it."

I nod grimly, determination swelling up inside me. "I'm planning to."

"Today. Not tomorrow, not after you've thought about it for a week behind one of your walls. Today."

"Today."

"Good." She settles back into the pillows. "Also, Peyton and Gemma and I will start the linked healing work on Stephen next week. Not a request."

"Fine."

"Fine? Just fine? No argument? No 'this meeting is over'?"

"The last time I said 'this meeting is over' you nearly died on my kitchen floor, so I'm retiring the phrase."

She reaches out and puts her hand on the back of my head, the way our mother used to, and for one second her face goes soft. Then it goes right back to business. "Go shower. You are genuinely offensive to the nose right now, and if you go anywhere near that woman smelling like this she will not take you back, and I won't blame her."

"Your support is overwhelming."

"I support you completely. I just don't trust your execution. There's a difference. Go."

I go.

Standing in the hallway, smelling like the forest and failure, I take stock.

I have a mate to find and an apology to deliver and no real skill set for either. But the first thing that comes to mind isn't Olivia. It's Rose. Bouncing on her toes, asking about a dance. Stephen, jaw set, shaking, telling me she deserves a life. Olivia on the couch, weeks ago, telling me that caging people makes them bolt.

She was right. She's been right about all of it.

The tri-pack dance is tonight.

Rose is in the greenhouse, sulking.