We drew cards. Not for chores. Not for the hunting party. For the hunt itself. The queen of hearts. Lottie’s idea. Taissa fought it. Van looked away. But when the card turned—the queen with her one-eyed stare—no one screamed.
The accusation hung in the air like smoke. That night, Lottie gathered us in the main room. She poured the last of the whiskey—not to drink, but to draw a circle on the floorboards.