Dot had her teeth set on my ex-sister’s ear, while following the conversation. A small part of me hoped the little creature would sit back at the fucking gall of what Amy had said and then use its box cutter to slit her throat.

Just a ‘fuck this, not hitching a ride with this’ kind of thing.

Dim hopes. Dot continued to nibble on Amy’s ear until Amy made her move, pulling her down to her lap, where she absently stroked the doll-sized creature.

I had to play along. I didn’t want to lie, and I wasn’t even sure I could, but… she seemed genuinely shaken by what she’d taken in when she touched me, reading my emotions. There was a crack.

And it sucked, but a cracked Amy was the only Amy I could hope to budge in the slightest. Push too hard and she’d fold into herself and go back to being stubborn.

If I didn’t push at all, she’d steamroll over me.

“Sure,” I said. “You’re a victim too. Slaughterhouse Nine and shit. Carol was a shit mom. You were lonely. I could have handled things better.”

“You were fine,” she said, eyes on the floor. “You were the one good thing.”

“I was angry and hurt from losing Dean and Dad being brain damaged, I hated the idea you had secrets from me, as Tattletale said, and I wasn’t there for you. Maybe if I had been, then Bonesaw wouldn’t have been able to come after you as easily as she did.”

“You’re fine. You were the one good thing. Your feelings made sense.”

“Amy. You’re a victim too. Fine. But what you did you did to me. What happened to you happened to you. Blame the Slaughterhouse Nine or see them like a natural disaster… there’s no cause. You don’t have the right or the position to complain about being a victim when you were the one who hurt me. Who used me.”

“You keep saying I have no right, I can’t, I’m not allowed—”

“Because when you do something criminal you lose rights. You lose privileges.”

Amy shook her head, like she didn’t realize she was doing it. The palm of her hand rested on Dot’s front, while fingers absently scritched at Dot’s chin and neck. Tiny hands and feet gripped the outer edges of Amy’s hand, tail swishing.

“One hour, you can take me to your therapists, put me in front of your tribunal, let the Wardens decide what to do with me. Okay. It might even be a relief, to be sent away.”

Probably not. But I wasn’t going to test her cooperation.

I would test one other aspect.

“Fifteen minutes,” I told her.

“What?”

“Not an hour. You don’t deserve an hour of my time.”

“Half an hour?”