Page 173 of Tag

I didn’t even know what that meant, and I wasn’t asking.

Mom gave her a look. “Please don’t talk about such things while I’m cooking.” She smiled at me. “How is school? You don’t say much about it in our texts.”

“It’s going,” I answered, sliding the last fork beside a plate. “I’ve got a few things to work on this weekend—nothing major.”

That was mostly true. Technically.

I almost told them about being Marked. The words hovered at the back of my throat, like maybe if I just let them out, the weight of it would shrink. But I wasn’t ready for that conversation either. Not yet. Maybe not ever. My family was already protective on a normal day. Add something like the Hunt, and I had no doubt they would go full Liam Neeson in Taken before breakfast while I was still standing right in front of them. Actually, I was surprised Dad hadn’t found out about my status yet. As far as I knew, he kept a close eye on everything related to the game.

From the foyer came a familiar, booming voice.

“Where’s my Stellina?”

I grinned instantly and turned toward the hallway, heart tugging in his direction before my feet even moved.

Seconds later, Papà appeared looking as sharp as ever. Tall, broad, still in his running jacket with damp, dark hair from his morning workout. He swept me into a hug so tight I barely got air in.

“There she is,” he murmured into my hair. “My girl.”

“Hi, Papà,” I mumbled into his chest, squeezing him back.

Before I could fully exhale, I was passed off into another set of strong arms—my Nonno, who smelled like espresso and old cologne ever after working out. His bristly cheek scratched mine as he pulled me in.

“My sunshine,” he said warmly, patting my back before holding me at arm’s length. His blue eyes narrowed in mock judgment. “Still too thin. You don’t eat enough in that dorm.”

“I live in a house,” I reminded him with a laugh.

He waved that off like it didn’t matter.

Once the table was finished and the laughter mellowed into a quiet conversation, I offered to go wake Shakira. My dad and Nonno had gone to wash up, Sugarmama was pouring herself a mimosa, muttering her go-to motto, “light on the juice, heavy on the spirit.” Mom was sliding a tray of naan into the warming drawer with that focused hum she always made when she cooked.

I slipped out of the kitchen and padded through the main hallway. The house always felt like a museum when it was quiet—grand and gilded, but it had been home my entire life, and I loved it.

The staircase curved like something out of a palace, black and gold railings catching flecks of morning light from thecrystal chandelier above. I took the steps two at a time, fingers brushing the cool metal rail.

At the landing, sunlight poured through the tall arched window, casting warmth across the glossy floors. I turned left, toward the wing my sister’s room was in, passing a gallery wall of framed memories. Birthdays, vacations, my parents over the years, a funny Halloween shot they refused to take down, and Diwali nights where everyone dressed in silk and ended up barefoot on the terrace eating Laddu.

Shakira’s door was closed. I paused in front of it and knocked gently, then cracked it open when I got no reply. The room was dim, blackout curtains drawn tight like always. I stepped inside quietly, the door clicking shut behind me, and crossed the soft rug to the bed that looked like it had swallowed her whole.

“Shakira,” I said softly.

No answer.

I leaned closer. “Ki, breakfast is ready. And Sugarmama already made two wildly inappropriate comments, so you’re missing the show.”

Still nothing.

I sighed and tugged the blanket down just enough to reveal a mass of curls and a pretty face mashed into the pillow.

Her eyes cracked open. At first, all I got was sleepy confusion, then came the recognition.

“Sanj!” she squealed.

Before I could brace myself, she launched. Like a spider-monkey, she latched onto me. Her arms were around my neck; her legs cinched around my waist. I stumbled back, laughing, holding her tight so we didn’t both crash to the floor.

“I knew you were coming, but nobody said you were already here!” she babbled into my hair. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?!”

“Because you were snoring through the second coming,” I wheezed, trying not to topple.

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