"Santi." My sister’s eyes fill with tears the moment she enters the room, and there is little time to brace myself before I am enveloped in her arms.
She squeezes the life out of me, and I return her hug awkwardly, uncomfortable with the display of emotion. I am not a man who expresses his feelings well, but my sister is the only reason I understand I am capable of that emotion they call love. For her, I would kill without a second thought. I protect her at all costs, and I would rain down hellfire on anyone who ever dared to hurt her. That is the only explanation of love that makes sense to me.
When she pulls away, she is wiping black makeup from beneath her eyes, choking on silent sobs. Judge was right. She’s a wreck, and it’s impossible not to notice how slight her frame looks.
"Have you been eating?" I demand.
"No!" She renews her crying fit with vigor, collapsing into the chair beside the bed. "Only when Judge forces me. I've been going out of my mind, Santi. I didn't know if I would ever see you again. That asshole has kept me from you, and I hate him. I hate him so much I could stab him!"
Despite her dramatic declaration, her tone lacks the conviction to make me worry. But there is something else I can't help noticing. She isn't looking directly at me. Instead, she dips her head, trying to hide her face, and it is so unlike her I can’t be certain what to make of it.
"Judge is only doing what he has been instructed to do," I say. "He's protecting you. Don't make his job any harder than it needs to be."
"Harder," she mutters. "He enjoys it when I act out. I think the sick fuck gets off on disciplining me."
My lips flatten, and I try to imagine exactly how Judge might be punishing her. He knows better than to do anything inappropriate. But I wouldn't be fulfilling my duty of protecting her if I didn't ask, regardless.
"He hasn’t… he’s left you untouched, right?”
Mercedes peeks up at me with a strange flush on her cheeks. "As if I would ever let that sadist touch me. God, you must really be drugged up."
"I'm perfectly clear-headed," I answer dryly. "Dr. Rosseau is giving me the all clear to leave tomorrow, in fact."
"So we get to go home?" she asks hopefully. "Things will return to normal?"
"For now. But you are to stay away from Ivy. No exceptions, Mercedes. She is dangerous."
"Ivy?" She dips her head again, wringing her hands together in a peculiar display of nerves.
"Yes." I frown. "Have you seen her?"
I don't know why I ask, and when Mercedes goes rigid, I know it was a stupid thing to do. I expect her to be out for blood, and I’m probably due for another tongue lashing about my plans for my wife. But her ire seems to have fizzled out after her outburst about Judge.
"Judge has kept us separate at his house," she says. "But the Tribunal has asked me to be a witness at her trial."
There is something in her voice I can't make out. I don't think I've ever heard it before, but she seems unnerved by the thought.
"It's standard procedure," I tell her.
She jerks her chin in acknowledgment.
“I need you to write down every location you and Ivy visited together leading up to the event. Anywhere you’ve gone together since she’s been in the house. Every detail, no matter how small. I want them.”
“Okay,” she answers quietly.
Silence lingers between us for a few long moments before she clears her throat.
"Do you believe she is guilty?"
"Undoubtedly." I turn away, jaw hard, hoping she can't see the strain in my eyes. But that doesn't stop me from hearing her next question, whispered low.
"What are you going to do with her?"
"Nothing has changed," I reply coldly. "She will pay for her sins. In blood."