After the Escape

I clutched Harvard Medical School's top scholarship acceptance letter, my heart pounding with hope, as I pushed open the heavy oak doors of Falcone Manor.

I thought—just this once—she'd finally give me a real smile.

Instead, the first thing that greeted me was cold silence.

My mother sat on the sofa, her face drawn and tired. Sofia was beside her, eyes red and puffy, dabbing at them with a handkerchief. My stepfather, Luca Falcone, occupied the head chair, flicking his silver lighter open and shut in that rhythmic, impatient way of his.

The atmosphere was suffocating.

"Vera." My mother's voice was flat. "Sofia failed her Sicilian assessment. The Council requires her to recite the family oath in three dialects. She couldn't get through the second one."

I looked at Sofia. She avoided my eyes.

"I've been teaching her," I said slowly. "I've gone over the oath with her three times this week."

"Not well enough, apparently." My mother's jaw tightened. "The ceremony is next month. If she can't perform, she loses her chance to be presented to the Council. Everything we've worked for—everything *I've* worked for—falls apart."

I stood there, acceptance letter still in my hand, the weight of it suddenly feeling ridiculous.

What was I supposed to say? That Sofia had torn up my study notes and threatened me into meeting those dangerous underground racers in her place, while she went off to some wild party? That she'd spent the last three nights at clubs instead of practicing?

If I said that, my mother would just accuse me of slandering her precious daughter.

Sofia sniffled softly, her voice small and wounded: "Mother, don't blame Vera. It's my fault. I'm just slow. Even when she tried her best to teach me, I couldn't remember all those boring rules. Besides, she's always so busy with her own things. When would she have time for me?"

My mother's expression softened instantly. She turned back to Sofia, stroking her golden hair with all the tenderness in the world. "Don't say that. My Sofia is the smartest girl. Your sister clearly didn't teach you properly—she's always been selfish, always thinking of herself."

Luca set down his lighter, speared a piece of melon, and fed it to Sofia with careful attention. "This family doesn't need some stiff, rule-obsessed princess. As long as Sofia's happy, that's all that matters. The Council? I'll have the steward call her name anyway."

A perfect little family portrait.

And me—just the extra piece that ruined the frame.

I walked back to the basement, the acceptance letter still clutched in my hand. The edges were crumpled from my grip, but the ink was still crisp and clear.

One week left until enrollment.

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