My dad, who worked himself to the bone to give us a better life. My mom, who could turn the worst day bearable just by being there. And Gabriel.

Gabriel, who I thought was the only thing she hadn’t ruined.

The betrayal is a slow, gnawing thing in my chest. She raised me after they were gone. She held me when I cried myself to sleep and told me everything would be okay when my world had been ripped apart.

And all along, she was the one who took them from me.

“Hey,” Selene says softly, pulling me from my thoughts. She shifts, her fingers lightly brushing over mine beneath the blanket, hesitant like she’s testing the waters. “You’ve been quiet for a while. What’s going on?”

I force out a breath, running a hand through my hair. “I don’t even know where to start.”

She doesn’t push, doesn’t fill the silence with empty reassurances. She just looks at me, steady and unwavering, like she sees straight through me.

“I trusted her,” I say finally, the words heavy in my mouth. “She was the only family I had left, and I thought… I thought she cared. That she loved me. But it was all a lie, wasn’t it? Everything she ever said, everything she ever did—it was just a cover for the monster underneath.”

Selene doesn’t look away, doesn’t flinch from the bitterness in my voice. “She’s good at what she does,” she says quietly. “That doesn’t mean it’s your fault for believing her.”

“Doesn’t it?” I murmur, tightening my grip on the blanket. “I lived with her for years. I should’ve noticed a sign—anything. How do you miss the fact that the person who raised you is capable of…of this?”

“You were a kid, Theo,” she says firmly. “You weren’t supposed to see it. You weren’t supposed to know. That’s not on you. That’s on her.”

I exhale slowly, staring out into the darkness. Her words make sense, but they don’t do much to dull the ache in my chest. “It’s just…a lot,” I admit. “Trying to figure out what’s real and what’s not. Trying to make sense of everything I thought I knew about her, about my parents…about myself.”

Selene leans back, letting the weight of her head rest against my shoulder. The movement is natural like we’ve done this a hundred times before. Her fingers brush against mine beneath the blanket, not quite lacing together, but close enough that the warmth of her skin is a quiet, steady thing.

“You don’t have to figure it all out tonight,” she says softly. “Or tomorrow. Or even next year. It’s going to take time.”