She's here.

Satara stepped back and the red band around her forehead felt like a target.

She's real.

Saytarnia lifted a hand in her direction, pointing at her with splayed fingers. The way she had all those years ago on the roadside.

I didn't make it up. I didn't kill them.

Questions and accusations tumbled around in Satara's head like bloodied clothes in a washing machine. The water turned crimson.

She came back for me. Like she said she would.

Her eyes warmed as if she were about to cry but her tears were moving in the wrong direction. And then Saytarnia's voice replaced the quivering air in her ears, in her mind.

Satara.

Clear. As if the murderer of her family were speaking right next to her. Saturated with a myriad of emotion that felt like hands on her shoulders, nearly pushing her down onto her knees. Completely at odds with a face so still it could have been a cruel painting. How is she here? How is she doing that? Satara remembered the vanishing blood on the sword. The electric tinge left on everything in the house including the air. Can I … do it too?

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You already are. On the other side of the room, her sister smiled emptily and Satara shifted into her default fighting stance before she could blink.

Carl stepped to the side, extending a hand towards the mats, and his blank treachery slithered around her ankles like a camouflaged snake. She almost stumbled over it but didn't have time to redirect the roar building in the void of her stomach as she backed away from Saytarnia's approach. Each of her sister's footsteps matched the pulse of her heart as it seemed to echo around the room, bouncing off the walls, every beat louder than the last.

Who are you? demanded Satara. The knowledge that another person was somehow reading her thoughts rattled around in her skull and refused to settle. Who the hell are you?

You know who I am. The wide half sleeves of Saytarnia's full length coat reached down to encompass the black fabric clinging to the rest of her arms, concealing half of her palms too. Satara remembered looking at similar accessories in a charity shop years ago and despised herself for it.

You're the one who killed my parents. A swift glance sideways revealed Jason's eyes, slightly wider than usual, his dark brows raised. For a moment, the target wrapped around her head transferred to his and she tore her attention from him at once.

I am. The smirk in Saytarnia's telepathic voice did not reach her features but as she stepped onto the mat a series of memories flashed through the fifteen year old's head like a fast forwarded video.

The absence of balloons decorating the Lang's house or a home made cake with her name sloppily written on it several days ago.

The first time Jason placed a hand on her shoulder and its weight and warmth hadn't overwhelmed her.

The taste of baked fish and peas in the hospital, extra salty courtesy of her tears.

The terrified screams one of the other foster kids as she pinned him down , her hands around his throat.

Looking out of the window at school at an aeroplane crossing the sky and breathing until she managed to rid herself of the thought of her family being on it without her.

Janie twisted on the hallway floor. The chill of the dining room like frozen claws scraping across her skin.

Saytarnia's low voice breaking the eternal silence she had forced her mum and dad into, shattering her eardrums, leaking into her thoughts like poisoned ink.

I won't let you kill me. Satara snarled the words as loud as she could without moving her lips. Without making a sound that the other people in the hall could hear. Her raised hands were unsteady and the centre of her chest burned. But she dropped half an inch lower and held the eyes of the woman opposite her.