Chapter 3

Elara POV: My eyes widened in horror as I stared at the confession agreement scattered across the floor, my blood turning to ice. "Why should I? I wasn't even in the capital last night!" I didn't think. I spun around and bolted for the front door. I didn't make it three steps before the heavy double doors burst inward. Two human police officers came through with their hands on their belts. "Nobody move!" the taller officer called out. "Who's the registered driver of a silver Audi, plate ending 4-7-X? Hit-and-run on Lakeshore Drive. " I stopped dead, staring at the badges. "What?" Footsteps thundered behind me. My father's open palm caught me across the face so hard the room went white. I hit the marble floor on my side. My ear rang, and blood filled my mouth. "You hit a man and ran? No daughter of mine does that!" my father roared, pointing down at me. My mother pressed a hand to her chest, her face twisted in horror. "Take her. She has to answer for what she did." I pushed myself up on one elbow, my cheek throbbing. "What are you talking about? I just got here! I don't even know how to drive!" Then Genevieve was on her knees beside the cops, grabbing the taller officer's sleeve. Tears spilled down her cheeks right on cue. "Please don't take my sister! She didn't mean it! She doesn't even have a license, she just took my car—" My sister was crying for me. Every word out of her mouth was a nail. "Genevieve, step back," Arthur said, pulling her into his arms like I was the one who might hurt her. "You can't cover for her anymore. She stole your keys the second she walked in last night." "Last night?" I looked from Arthur to my mother, my voice shaking. "I was on the mountain last night! Mr. Thomas picked me up at midnight—tell them! Mr. Thomas!" Mr. Thomas looked straight over my head at the wall. "Miss Elara arrived yesterday afternoon, Officer. She took Miss Genevieve's keys from the hall table around ten." "If you don't sign, I’ll cut off the medical funding for your sickly foster mother right now," Wilhelmina whispered into my ear. The air left my lungs. At the mention of my foster mother, Martha—a kind wolfless woman who had raised me when the Kowalskis lost me—my whole body froze, and my clenched fists fell open. The taller officer pulled me up by my arm and twisted both my wrists behind my back. Cold steel clicked shut around my skin. Right before they shoved me into the armored prison van, I looked back at the glowing doorway and saw Genevieve nestled in my parents' arms, flashing me a triumphant, venomous smile. The heavy iron doors slammed shut, locking me away for four years of brutal exile and hard labor. I closed my eyes, walking from the cold prison corridor into the cramped cell to sit on the wooden plank bed as four endless years bled away. With a screech of rusted metal, the heavy iron gate of the exile camp finally swung open. Wearing faded clothes and carrying a flat canvas bag, I stepped back out into the sunlight. I squinted against the glare and spotted my best friend, Clara, standing beside a beat-up used Ford, waving at me with red-rimmed eyes. I hurried over, and Clara threw her arms around my neck, her tears soaking my shoulder. "Elara, you're finally out. You've suffered so much." "I'm fine, Clara." I patted her back and forced my usual calm smile. "How is Martha? I want to see her right now." Clara stiffened in my arms, her gaze darting toward the ground as she stammered without meeting my eyes. An icy wave of dread gripped my chest, and I grabbed her arm, my voice shaking. "Tell me what happened to her!"