Overwhelming fear made me break into sobs. I ran after them, grabbing my brother’s arm. “I didn’t use silver to hurt her! Brother! You have to believe me!” 

“Get away from me!” he snarled. “She’s pregnant, do you understand? You could have killed them both! I should have left you in that rehabilitation center forever! Skye, how did I end up with such a wicked sister? Why don’t you just die!” 

He shook off my hand and, just like before, walked away without looking back. 

My face throbbed with pain, but one phrase kept echoing in my mind: “Why don’t you just die?” 

That sentence merged with the endless days and nights at the rehabilitation center when death seemed preferable to living. 

“Brother, you don’t know that I’ve thought about dying for so long…” 

I rolled up my sleeve, revealing a maze of scars—evidence of the abuse I’d suffered at the center. 

Standing by the window where the necklace had been thrown, I called my brother.