Chapter 7

Julieta scrambled backward across the floorboards. Her perfectly styled hair was a tangled mess around her face. She looked unhinged.

She dropped the sweet voice entirely. Her tone was a vicious screech as she called Bridget a psychotic bitch.

Julieta pushed herself up. She pointed a shaking finger at Bridget, threatening to tell everyone in town that Bridget was a desperate slut who threw herself at men.

She screamed that she would find Bridget's mother at the factory and make sure the whole family was humiliated out of town.

Bridget didn't flinch. She didn't blink. She just stood there, letting the venom wash over her like rain on concrete.

When Julieta finally stopped screaming, Bridget lowered her head. A low, dark chuckle vibrated in her chest.

The sound was so unnatural, so devoid of fear, that it made the hair on Julieta's arms stand up. She instinctively took a step back.

Bridget stopped laughing. She raised her head. Her eyes were dead, looking at Julieta like she was already a corpse.

She closed the distance between them, using her height to loom over the trembling girl.

Bridget lowered her voice to a dangerous whisper. She dropped a single, heavy word into the room: "Defamation."

She systematically laid out the consequences. If Julieta spoke one more word about her, Bridget would file a civil suit in federal court.

She promised to mail a formal complaint, along with a copy of the county Sheriff's official police report, directly to the volunteer dispatch agency and the principal of Julieta's high school. She asked Julieta to imagine how fast her 'outstanding community service' record would be reclassified as moral misconduct.

Julieta's pupils dilated in pure terror. She didn't understand the legal mechanics, but the threat to her future was crystal clear.

Bridget leaned in closer. She mocked Julieta for being a parasite who hid behind boys, entirely unequipped to play a real adult's game.

The words sliced through the last shred of Julieta's ego.

Julieta's whole body trembled. She clenched her fists so hard her manicured nails dug into her palms, drawing crescent moons of blood.

She let out a frustrated, defeated scream. She shoved Tanya out of the way with brutal force.

Julieta snatched her jacket off the chair and bolted out the door, running like a terrified animal.

Tanya and Gretel exchanged one panicked look. They hugged the walls and scurried out of the cabin right behind her.

The cabin fell into absolute silence. Bridget was alone with the scattered makeup and the dust.

She exhaled a long, shaky breath. The adrenaline crashed. A violent wave of dizziness hit her brain.

She grabbed the edge of the wooden table. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the spinning room to stop. Her knuckles turned white from the grip.

After fifteen seconds, the nausea passed. She reached into her pocket and touched the letters. Her brain rebooted.

If Julieta only had half the letters, the hypocrite Kurtis definitely had the rest.

Bridget opened her eyes. The weakness vanished, replaced by cold determination. She walked out of the cabin.

The afternoon sun hit her face. She squinted, scanning the busy dirt paths of the camp.

She turned toward the supply distribution tents. It was the highest traffic area for the volunteers.

Her boots crunched against the gravel. Her pace was slow, conserving energy, but every step was locked onto a target.

As she rounded the corner of a corrugated metal storage shed, she heard it. A deep, fake, overly dramatic male voice.

Bridget stopped dead. She pressed her back against the metal siding. She stared at the back of the boy who was currently reciting poetry to a new, starry-eyed girl.