“Bloody hell!” Emma screamed, stumbling back quickly from the dusty cupboard she had tried to clean, her eyes wide with apprehension at the lone cockroach that had darted out in protest of her half-hearted cleaning.

The cockroach, oblivious to her horrified face, scurried back into the cupboard, leaving no trace behind.

Running her slender fingers through her deep red hair, Emma stared at the small opening where the cockroach had vanished and let out a shaky sigh of relief. At least she was safe.

She tossed the now-dusty brown rag onto the floor—the same rag she had used earlier to wipe down the kitchen table near the murky sink—and trudged tiredly toward the far window that overlooked the thick, dark forest.

From the slightly broken pane, she watched a rabbit hop from one forest climber to another. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if the wild animals ever left the forest to harass the inhabitants.

She winced at the thought, her lips pressing into a tight line. God, she hoped not. She hated animals—snakes most of all. The only exception was Claire’s dog, and only because it had saved them from a burglary last summer.

Turning away from the unsettling view, Emma let her eyes sweep the messy kitchen and sighed again, for what felt like the umpteenth time.

“What in bloody hell am I doing here?” she asked aloud, rubbing her nose absently as she wandered toward the wooden seat she had cleaned earlier.

Her face scrunched in discomfort from standing too long, Emma finally sank into the seat, dusting her palms together with a tired little clap. She had no strength left to face the cupboard again.

Not after seeing that disgusting cockroach.

Fishing into the rectangular front pocket of her faded blue ripped jeans, she pulled out her phone—or rather, her sister’s phone.

Amelia had slipped it into her hands while no one was watching as Emma packed her last piece of luggage into the car.

And when Emma had tried to talk her out of it—even though inwardly she had been praying Amelia wouldn’t change her mind—her sister hushed her, pointing quickly at their father and promising she’d get a new one the next day.

Now, as Emma thumbed the worn Samsung to life, she remembered her father barking orders over his own phone that day to whoever had charge of this godforsaken house.

The white bungalow might have been beautiful once, but desolation had long since taken over.

The cupboards were broken, the sink bore hideous brown and black stains, the plates were cracked, and everything was coated in dust. The sitting room and the bedrooms were worse—dangling ceilings, ruined furniture.

The worst? Emma had no clue how to tackle it all, or if there was even anyone nearby who could.

How could Papa send me here? she thought angrily, chewing the inside of her cheek. 

No matter how she tried, she couldn’t shake the thought. It clung to her like a stain ever since the move to England became real—ever since she boarded the plane with no one beside her.

She had always suspected she was adopted, though her mother had spanked her the last time she voiced it aloud. Still, this? This was going too far.

All her life, she had bent herself to her father’s strange demands, working to please him no matter the cost, swallowing every sacrifice. Yet compared to Amelia, she always felt worthless. And now this exile.

“This is the height of it,” Emma muttered under her breath. “How can he ship me halfway across the world for what I did? I didn’t kill anyone, Jesus! I just… ugh!”

Frustration boiled over. She flung her legs against the air, kicking wildly, her fists tightening at her sides.

“How will I cope? I don’t even know anyone here. How will I clean up this mess of a house that looks like an abandoned drug den? I’ve never lifted a broom in my entire life! Oh, shit, I’m doomed,” she groaned, chewing her lower lip and shaking her legs so hard the seat creaked beneath her.

The Samsung screen finally blinked awake, and she silently thanked Amelia for removing the lock. Her sister’s obsession with locks and patterns had always baffled her—Amelia even locked her contact list.

A small smile curved Emma’s lips. God, she missed her sister. At least Amelia had her back when their mom couldn’t.

A message notification popped up.

It could only be Amelia, she thought, her pulse quickening.

Her parents didn’t know she had a phone now. Her dad had confiscated hers and vowed to return it in three months when he visited. The thought made Emma shake her head with a bitter laugh. How could he ever believe she could survive three months without a phone?

“Old grump,” she muttered with a crooked grin, tapping the blue message icon.

The text read: Hey, red sis. @British county yet? How’s the house? Have you checked out the campus yet? I heard it’s quite cool…

“Campus?” Emma murmured, ignoring the hated nickname. She had made Amelia stop calling her that years ago—by dropping spiders into her school shoes in Grade Eight.

Her eyes widened as realization sank in. It hit her like a punch, and she cursed aloud, tossing the phone onto the table behind her.

She was meant to attend the most prestigious university in British County: The Lakers University.

The acceptance letter had come two weeks ago, right as she was polishing her RMX bike for the downtown race. The letter had been a reality check—proof she was actually leaving Florida for some British county she knew nothing about.

Leaning back against the table, she recalled the letter’s content and the looming date: the first Monday of the month. 

That was only two days away.

Surveying the dirty kitchen again, contemplating how to set things in order, Emma let out another curse.