Page 105 of The Viper
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it doesn’t matter anymore!”
The words came out strangled, half a sob. She turned away, pacing toward the window. Her reflection flickered in the glass—small, fragile, a ghost of the sister I knew.
“You’re scaring me,” I said.
“Good.” She laughed—a broken, hollow sound. “Maybe you’ll finally see it’s not just about you.”
The words hit harder than they should have. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She didn’t answer.
The door burst open, and Franklin appeared, breathless, holding a clipboard like a weapon. “Lexi, the police want to speak with you about—” He stopped short when he saw Hannah. “Oh. Hannah.”
Hannah turned, face pale. “Yes?”
He frowned. “Security just told me your badge access pinged the side door twenty minutes before the accident.”
My heart stopped. “What?”
“That can’t be right,” Hannah said quickly. “I wasn’t even here?—”
“They’re pulling the logs now,” Franklin said. “If there’s a mistake, fine. But if not, we’ve got a serious problem.”
I took a step back. “What’s he talking about?”
Hannah’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know! Maybe it was someone using my badge. You think I wanted any of this?”
I didn’t know what to think. My chest hurt, my pulse racing so hard it made me dizzy.
Franklin glanced between us, sensing the tension. “I’ll let the two of you talk. But stay put. Security’s on their way.” He left, the door clicking shut behind him.
For a long, awful moment, we just stood there.
The silence pressed in, thick and claustrophobic, broken only by the faint hum of the lights above. My pulse was a drum in my ears.
Not long ago, my life had been routine—exhausting, yes, but predictable. I’d wake before dawn, paint on someone else’s emotions, and go to sleep wondering if I’d ever feel something real again. Then Lucas had appeared like a collision—dark, steady, unstoppable—and suddenly everything that had feltscripted cracked open. He’d made me remember what it was to want something for myself. To be seen, not staged.
And yet, even now, with him somewhere out there chasing shadows and leads, this was where I’d been pulled back—to my sister. No matter how far I went, no matter who I became, Hannah was the constant thread, the one person who tied me to the version of myself that existed before the fame, before the pretending. We’d survived too much together for me to imagine a world where she wasn’t on my side.
But standing there, watching her twist her hands and avoid my eyes, I felt the terrifying possibility that maybe I didn’t know her anymore. Maybe I’d been too busy running from my own reflection to notice that she’d been running, too—just in the opposite direction.
Finally, Hannah whispered, “They made me do it.”
My voice barely worked. “Made you do what?”
She turned toward me, tears streaking down her face. “I didn’t know what would happen. I thought—it was supposed to be a warning. That’s all. No one was supposed to get hurt.”
Cold rushed through me. “Who, Hannah? Who made you?”
She pressed her hands to her mouth like she could shove the words back inside. “You have to believe me.”
“I’m trying,” I said, stepping closer. “But you have to give me something. Tell me who they are.”
“I can’t,” she said again, voice breaking. “If I do, they’ll kill me. They’re crazy.”
