“You are family.”

“And we do not let family get thrown out for something they didn’t do.”

I looked up at the corner of the ceiling, where a small, black dome housing a security camera was mounted.

The little red indicator light was blinking, steady and silent.

I wondered if anyone was sitting in the monitoring room at the end of the north hallway.

Ramiro was supposed to be on duty today, but Patricia had sent him to the gatehouse earlier to check on a fictional delivery.

She had planned this perfectly, choosing a time when she thought we would be defenseless.

“Look at you two,” Patricia said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Playing the heroes.”

“Your mother would have been so proud of your dramatic flair.”

A cold spike of anger hit my stomach at the mention of our mother.

“Do not speak about our mother,” I said, my voice dropping an octave.

“You have no right to even say her name in this house.”

Patricia’s smile vanished, her face hardening into a mask of pure dislike.