Page 40 of Reptile Dysfunction
Very funny. He says Tuesday works, but only if you bring that lip gloss he likes. Apparently, regular lips are “beneath his standards” now.
My phone buzzes with another notification—an email from an editor at a regional magazine interested in featuring my blog’s coverage of monster integration stories. The visibility could help establish me as a serious journalist, independent of my father’s influence.
“Interesting reading this morning.”
Nearly dropping my mug, I turn to find my mother wheeling herself into the kitchen. She’s dressed for physical therapy, but her tablet displays my latest blog post.
“All these years living in Harmony Glen,” she muses, “watching people avoid certain places, seeing teenagers suddenly change their troublemaking ways overnight… I always wondered if there was more going on than mere coincidence.”
“Mom—”
“Did you know I once tried to explore those caves outside town? Senior year of college. Suddenly, I got the most overwhelming feeling that I should turn back. Now I understand why.” Shemaneuvers her wheelchair to the breakfast nook with practiced grace. “It’s time these stories were told.”
“You never told me.”
“There were a lot of things we didn’t talk about before the Revelation. But I think it’s time we did.”
Before I can respond, my father’s voice carries from his study. “Sloane Elizabeth Whitaker!”
“Speaking of things we don’t talk about.” Mom squeezes my hand. “Stand your ground, sweetheart. Some truths need telling.”
Dad storms in, tablet clutched like evidence of a crime. “Would you care to explain this?”
“The blog post about enforcer culture?” Keeping my voice steady, I meet his gaze. “I thought it was pretty self-explanatory.”
“This is not the article we discussed.” His campaign smile is nowhere in sight. “This… exposé about intimidation tactics and shadow operations? This is not the celebration piece I assigned.”
“No,” I agree. “It’s better. It’s real.”
“It’s dangerous.” He sets the tablet down with controlled irritation. “Do you have any idea how this could affect community relations? The celebration planning? My re-election?”
The words hit like precision strikes, targeting years of ingrained guilt about family reputation. But something has changed—maybe it’s the memory of Thad’s snakes reaching for me trustingly, or that my mother’s eyes hold quiet approval.
“Actually,” I say, straightening my spine, “I do know how it could affect things. It could help people understand what monsters sacrificed to keep everyone safe. It could show that integration isn’t just about sanitized success stories—it’s about acknowledging the hard parts too.”
“The hard parts?” His laugh holds no humor. “Likedatingan ex-enforcer? Yes, I know about that too. The whole town is talking about you and the Gorgon.”
“Thaddeus,” Mom corrects mildly. “His name is Thaddeus, Charles. And word has it he’s quite charming once you get past the intimidation act. Did you know he teaches children to swim? Apparently, they’re not afraid of his snakes at all.”
Something shifts in Dad’s expression—surprise, maybe uncertainty. “That’s not the point—”
“Isn’t it?” I step closer, channeling every ounce of journalistic training. “You’ve spent five years pushing the polished integration narrative. But real integration means acceptingallof it—the messy parts, the scary parts, the parts that make people uncomfortable.”
“And your blog? That’s about integration?”
“It’s abouttruth.” The word feels like freedom on my tongue. “All of it. Not just the parts that look good in campaign photos.”
His fingers drum against the tablet, a tell I recognize from countless dinner table debates. “The Bradley situation—”
“Isfinished.” My voice holds steel now. “And if you’re more concerned about his family’s merger plans than your daughter’s happiness, that’s something we should probably discuss too.”
Mom actually claps. “Well said.”
“This isn’t a game, Sloane.” But Dad’s tone has shifted from anger to something closer to resignation. “Actions have consequences.”
“Yes,” I agree. “Like monsters spending centuries hiding who they are. Like enforcers using fear to keep everyone safe because there was no other choice. Like daughters pretending to be flawless because their fathers never gave them another option.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken truths. Then Mom clears her throat.
