Page 90 of Scornful

The counter is covered in bags of candy, cookie cutters, frosting tubes, and every orange and black sprinkle known to man.

Aziza's at the stove, the smell of pumpkin spice wafting from whatever she's baking. As the club’s baking mastermind, she’s got any baked good covered.

Fern sits at the table with a clipboard, ever the organizer. "Astrid, perfect timing," Fern says without looking up. "We need someone to run the costume contest. Runes agreed to judge."

"Really?" I can't hide my surprise.

I would never think Runes would want to judge a kid’s contest like this.

"He's got a soft spot for the kids," she says with a knowing smile. "Plus, it gives the men something normal to focus on. Gods know they need the distraction."

Normal.

That word keeps coming up, like if we say it enough, it'll be true.

Like if we pretend hard enough, we're not trapped in a clubhouse while a madman hunts our families.

I spot Ingrid by the coffee pot, staring at her phone with red-rimmed eyes.

She's dressed in jeans and a black sweater, her hair pulled back in a messy bun.

She looks younger than her sixteen years, vulnerable in a way that makes my heart ache.

"Hey," I say softly, approaching my sister. "You okay?"

She shrugs, not looking up from her phone. "Njal says Bjorn had a rough night. The pain is really bad. He kept screaming."

My heart aches for her. Sixteen years old and dealing with her boyfriend's life-changing injury, though most people still don't know they're together.

"Dad's going to the hospital later," I tell her. "Maybe you can go with him."

"It's family only," she says bitterly. "I'm not family."

"You are to Bjorn," I remind her. "And that's what matters."

"Try telling that to the hospital staff," she mutters. "Or to our parents. If they knew about us..."

"They'd understand," I say, though I'm not entirely sure that's true. "Love doesn't follow rules."

She gives me a look that's far too knowing for her age. "Like you and Geirolf?"

Before I can respond, Everly appears in the doorway.

She looks better than she did at the hospital—the bandages on her arms are smaller now, and there's color back in her cheeks.

She's wearing a long-sleeved shirt to cover the worst of her healing burns.

"Morning, everyone," she says, grabbing a mug. "What can I help with?"

"You should be resting," Starla chides, but Everly waves her off.

"I've rested enough. I need to keep busy." Her eyes are haunted despite her cheerful tone. Survivor's guilt is a bitch. "Besides, it's Halloween. Can't let the kids down."

"Actually," I say, getting an idea, "want to help me inventory the candy? Make sure we have enough for tonight?"

She nods gratefully, and we head to the storage room where boxes of Halloween candy are stacked.

It's quieter here, away from the chaos of the main room.

---