Page 41 of Reptile Dysfunction
“Charles,” she says quietly, “when was the last time you read one of Sloane’s articles? Really read it, not just checked for alignment with your campaign message?”
He blinks. “I…”
“Because I have. All of them. Including this morning’s blog post about how a werewolf now teaches children how to find theirway home if lost in the woods.” She wheels closer to him. “Our daughter isn’t just writing stories, Charles. She’s writing history. The real history.”
My phone buzzes with another notification. It’s a comment on my blog post from Sebastian’s library account, adding his perspective as a Gorgon with different abilities than his younger brother. The comments section fills with more monster voices, sharing their own pre-Revelation experiences.
“It’s too late to stop it anyway,” I tell my father gently. “People are talking. Really talking, maybe for the first time since the Revelation. Don’t you want to be part of that conversation?”
He stares at the tablet for a long moment, jaw working silently. “This… this isn’t what we discussed for the celebration.”
“No,” I agree. “But it’s what needed to be said.”
“The celebration committee will have questions at our next meeting. Which I assume will be soon after this post. They’ll have serious concerns about narrative control.”
“Then we’ll answer them honestly.”
His laugh is clipped, bitter. “Honestly. When did that become the campaign strategy?”
“Maybe it’s long overdue, Dad.”
“Your Gorgon—Thaddeus—he should probably be there. If we’re going to tell the real story, we should do it properly.”
It’s not approval, not exactly. But it’s something close to acceptance.
“I’ll let him know.” Already composing the text in my head, I smile. “Though he might need a special chair. His back is still recovering from an unfortunate Pilates incident.”
“Pilates?” Dad’s eyebrows rise. “The enforcer does Pilates?”
“Tried to,” Mom corrects with a grin. “Apparently, it didn’t go well. But that’s another story entirely.”
Looking between them—my mother’s quiet strength, my father’s reluctant evolution—I feel something shift. Maybe it’s about all of us learning how to be real in a world that prefers pretty lies.
My phone buzzes again: a text from Thad.
Your blog post is trending locally. The Benevolent Busybodies are organizing a support rally. Send help.
Smiling, I type back:Too late. They’ve probably already made t-shirts.
His response is immediate:Sterling wants one. He’s shameless. Says if Sebastian’s snakes can have bowties, he wants a t-shirt.
“Go,” Mom says, recognizing my expression. “Your father and I have some catching up to do. It’s been a while since we’ve had a true heart-to-heart.”
Dad looks thoughtful, opens his mouth as if to complain, then his face lights in a smile. “You’re right. It’s been too damn long. Let’s talk over coffee on the balcony. When was the last time we enjoyed the view?”
But I’m already heading out, my heart lighter than it’s been in years. The drive to Thad’s feels different this time—like I’m finally choosing my own path instead of following someone else’s map.
Chapter Eighteen
Thad
“A security consulting business?” Sebastian looks up from the stack of swim class registrations he’s helping me sort. “That’s… actually brilliant.”
My snakes perk up at his approval. I wince as I rise from my chair. Even though it’s been over two weeks since my Pilates incident—I refuse to think of it as Reptile Dysfunction, though that’s how Sloane refers to it—some movements still cause some pain.
“It suddenly came to me after the incident with Bradley Harrington III at the front desk.”
“When you went full enforcer-lite on him? How very restrained.” Sebastian’s snakes do that knowing wiggle that always makeshim look insufferably pleased with himself. “Almost like you’re getting soft in your old age.”
