They say revenge tastes like metal. Orla’s tasted sweeter than I expected — and twice as poisonous.
The week after the rescue was a blur of patching and plans. We patched Gage’s name back into the ledger of heroes, scrubbed edits until the liar’s clip looked like the manipulative thing it was, and tried to shrink the public beast that fed on shame. Dominic slept in fits; Dad oscillated between righteous fury and a tired father’s fear. Tyler kept showing up with half-promises and too-bright smiles. Marisol ran interference like a general with a press badge.
Then Orla arrived and everything she’d done before looked like a rehearsal.
She didn’t announce herself with drama. She arrived like a fact: first a message to Marisol offering an exclusive, then a small, pristine printout slipped und
