Mira's POV
Something was wrong.
Mira couldn't explain it. Not the way the air felt too heavy, or the way her stomach had been clenching all morning like a fist squeezing tighter with every second. It was something deepera warning buried somewhere inside her chest, screaming at her to pay attention.
So she left.
The funeral was still going on behind her. Through the closed doors, she could hear Damon's voice, smooth, sad, perfect. He was talking about her mother. About how much he loved her. About how he'd take care of Mira forever.
Everyone believed him.
Mira believed him too. Until ten minutes ago.
She hadn't planned to walk to the parking lot. Her feet just carried her, chasing that sick, prickling feeling in her gut. The kind her mother used to call your body knows before your brain does, baby.
She found Damon's car easily. It was the nicest one there.
And through the window, she saw everything.
Celeste's hand on his neck. Damon's fingers tangled in her hair. Their mouths moving against each other like the world wasn't ending right outside. Like Mira's mother hadn't just been lowered into the ground forty minutes ago.
Her breath hit the glass in a white cloud.
They both turned.
Mira waited for the fear. The guilt. The sorry, this isn't what it looks like.
Damon smiled.
It was the coldest smile she had ever seen on a human face. Not embarrassed. Not caught. Pleased. Like she had just walked right into exactly where he wanted her.
Mira, he said, stepping out of the car. Calm. Easy. We should talk.
What followed wasn't a conversation. It was a demolition.
Damon did most of the talking. Celeste leaned against the car, arms crossed, and watching Mira's face the way someone watches a candle go out.
The engagement was a game, Damon said, like he was reading a grocery list. A bet, actually. My friends wanted to know if I could make the scholarship girl fall for me. Turns out, it wasn't even hard.
Each word hit her like a slap. But Mira didn't flinch. She couldn't. Her body had gone completely numb.
Then Celeste spoke.
I was never your sister, Mira. Her voice was gentle. Pitying. The same voice she used when Mira was scared or sad, the voice that had made Mira trust her completely. I was placed near you on purpose. To keep you close. To keep you quiet.
What does that even mean? Mira's voice came out smaller than she wanted.
Neither of them answered that.
Instead, Damon kept going. The inheritance, her mother's life savings, meant to pay off medical debts, was already moved. Into Celeste's account. The school had been sent evidence of cheating in Mira's name. Forged. Perfect. Impossible to disprove.
By tomorrow morning, you'll have nothing, Damon said. No school. No money. No one who believes you.
Mira's hands were shaking. She pressed them against her sides and squeezed.
I'll tell everyone, she whispered. I'll show them
Show them what? Celeste tilted her head, the ghost of a smile on her lips. That the girl whose mother just died is having a breakdown? That she invented a relationship? That she's been stalking Damon? She shrugged. I already told the school you were unstable. They believed me immediately. Everyone does. You made that so easy, Mira.
The ground didn't crack open. The sky didn't fall. Nothing dramatic happened at all. But something inside Mira broke so cleanly, so completely, that she could feel the pieces separating.
She looked at Celeste, really looked at her. The girl who had held her hand when her mother got sick. Who had promised they'd always protect each other.
A stranger. Wearing her sister's face.
Damon watched the realization hit. He enjoyed it.
There she is, he murmured.
Mira opened her mouth. She didn't know what she was going to say. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.
Then Damon did something strange.
He tilted his head, sharply, suddenly, like a dog catching a sound no one else could hear. His nostrils flared. His eyes, which had been lazy and amused a second ago, went flat and cold in a way that made the hair on the back of Mira's neck stand up.
Oh, he said. Quietly. Almost to himself.
He looked at Celeste. Something passed between them fast, wordless, urgent.
Then he turned back to Mira, and the smile returned. But it was different now. Sharper. Hungrier.
One more thing, Damon said. He stepped closer. Close enough that Mira noticed his skin was too warm. Too alive. You and me? We're not human, Mira. Not really.
The words didn't make sense. Not yet. They just hung in the cold air between them like smoke.
Good luck proving any of this, he said softly, when you're expelled tomorrow.
He walked back toward the funeral home without another word. Celeste followed, glancing back once with an expression that looked almost like pity.
Mira stood alone in the parking lot. The wind picked up, biting cold against her wet cheeks.
Not human.
She almost laughed. It sounded insane. It was insane.
But her hands wouldn't stop shaking.
And somewhere, buried deep in her chest, that same warning was still screaming, louder now, sharper, like it had been waiting her whole life to be heard.
Pay attention, baby.
You're about to find out why.