Chapter 2

I knew Ethan wouldn't give up easily. That night, I locked my bedroom door, something I rarely did.

But I underestimated his determination, or rather, Chloe' s insidious planning.

He must have copied my key ages ago.

I woke up groggy, a strange metallic taste in my mouth. My limbs felt heavy, unresponsive.

Ethan was standing over me, his face a mask of grim satisfaction.

"You're coming with me, Sarah," he hissed. "Chloe said this is the only way."

Drugged. He drugged me.

Panic clawed at my throat, but my body wouldn't obey. He half-dragged, half-carried me out of the house, into the pre-dawn darkness.

Chloe was nowhere to be seen, of course. She'd be playing the innocent, worried sister when Mom and Dad woke up.

He forced me onto a Greyhound bus, shoving me into a window seat.

The bus lurched forward, and the suburbs gave way to the highway. My head throbbed, the drug slowly wearing off, replaced by a burning rage and a chilling clarity.

He thought he was in control. He had no idea.

Hours passed. The initial grogginess faded, leaving me weak but aware.

Ethan, sprawled in the seat next to me, started to get hungry. He eyed the small bag of snacks Mom always packed for me on any trip, a habit from my childhood.

"Give me those," he demanded, reaching for the bag.

In my past life, I would have cowered, handed them over.

This time, I snatched the bag away.

"No," I said, my voice surprisingly steady.

He scowled. "Don't be a brat, Sarah. I'm starving."

He reached again, and I raised my voice, loud enough for the nearby passengers to hear.

"Stop it, Ethan! Why are you always trying to take my food? Mom packed this for me!"

A woman in the seat across the aisle looked over, frowning. An older man in front turned his head.

Ethan' s face flushed. "Shut up," he muttered, embarrassed.

"You always do this!" I continued, tears welling in my eyes – real tears of frustration, but useful now. "Just because you're my older brother doesn't mean you can bully me and take everything!"

The woman across the aisle clucked sympathetically. "Young man, leave your little sister alone. She needs to eat."

Other passengers murmured their agreement.

Ethan slumped back in his seat, defeated and fuming.

I calmly opened a packet of crackers, eating slowly. I offered him nothing.

For the rest of the journey, I played the part of the mistreated younger sister. Passengers offered me sympathetic smiles, a bottle of water, even a piece of fruit.

Ethan, on the other hand, grew increasingly disheveled and sullen. He had no money, no food, and no sympathy.

The power dynamic had shifted. He was starting to look like the desperate one, not me.

And that was exactly what I wanted when we met Brenda.