Rev looked away from her mother. She was quiet for a moment, just smoking—her eyes distant, lost in the question her mother had just asked.

Red watched her, one perfectly manicured brow arched, and waited.

When two minutes passed and Rev still hadn’t spoken, Red snapped.

“Ay, Dios mío, speak already, niña. You want me to drop dead guessing?”

Rev’s eyes flicked to her, then back down.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

Just smoked.

Red’s eyes narrowed. Her voice dropped low and firm.

“I said—how is your sister?”

Finally, Rev exhaled. Smoke curled from her lips like a slow confession.

“She’s been living in that house since she was eight,”...