Friday night came faster than Carrie expected.
She dressed slowly, methodically, as though the right dress could steady her shaking hands. She chose black, sleek and simple, but paired it with her red lipstick, the one Gracie always called her war paint. If she was going to face Andrew, she would do it armored.
Gracie was the one who made sure of it. She showed up first, hair curled, eyes sharp, voice steady in the way Carrie leaned on. "You can't keep avoiding him," she said, standing in Carrie's bedroom doorway. "If you don't face this, it will eat you alive. Tonight, we're getting you answers."
Damien arrived a few minutes later in a glittering blazer that shimmered under the hallway lights. He twirled dramatically and declared, "Tonight, darlings, we are not victims. We are avengers
