Galen nudges me with his elbow. “Aren’t you hungry? You’re not feeling bad again, are you?”

This gets the others’ attention. The commotion of eating stops. Everyone stares. Rayna, irritated that her gluttony has been interrupted. Toraf smirking like I’ve done something funny. Galen’s mom wearing the same concerned look he is. Can I lie? Should I lie? What if I’m invited over again, and they fix seafood because I lied about it just this once? Telling Galen my head hurts doesn’t get me out of future seafood buffets. And telling him I’m not hungry would be pointless since my stomach keeps gurgling like an emptying drain.

No, I can’t lie. Not if I ever want to come back here. Which I do. I sigh and set the fork down. “I hate seafood,” I tell him. Toraf’s sudden cough startles me. The sound of him choking reminds me of a cat struggling with a hair ball.

I train my eyes on Galen, who has stiffened to a near statue. Jeez, is this all his mom knows how to make? Or have I just shunned the Forza family’s prize-winning recipe for grouper?

“You … you mean you don’t like this kind of fish, Emma?” Galen says diplomatically.

I desperately want to nod, to say, “Yes, that’s it, not this kind of fish”—but that doesn’t get me out of eating the crabmeat-and-scallop mountain on my plate. I shake my head. “No. Not just this kind of fish. I hate it all. I can’t eat any of it. Can hardly stand to smell it.”

Way to go for the jugular there, stupid! Couldn’t I just say I don’t care for it? Did I have to say I hate it? Hate even the smell of it? And why am I blushing? It’s not a crime to gag on seafood. And for God’s sakes, I won’t eat anything that still has its eyeballs.

“You mean to tell me you don’t eat fish?” Rayna barks. “I told you, Galen! How many times did I tell you?”

“Rayna, be quiet,” he says without looking at her.

“We’re wasting our time here!” She slams her fork down.

“Rayna, I said—”

“Oh, I heard what you said. And it’s about time you listened to someone else for a change.”

Now would be a good time to blackout. Or ten minutes ago, before they unveiled the seafood surprise. But I don’t even feel remotely dizzy. Or tired. In fact, Rayna’s ranting seems to be igniting a weird charge in the room, sparking some sort of hidden energy all around us. So when Galen stands so fast his chair falls over, I’m not surprised. I stand, too.

“Leave, Rayna. Right now,” he grinds out.

When Rayna stands, Toraf does, too. He keeps his expression neutral. I get the feeling he’s used to outbursts like these. “You’re just using her as a distraction from your real responsibilities, Galen,” she spits. “And now you’ve risked us all. For her.”

“You were aware of the risks before you came, Rayna. If you feel exposed, leave,” Galen says coolly.

Responsibilities? Exposed? I’m waiting for someone to admit they’re part of some violet-eye cult, and I didn’t make initiation. “I guess I don’t understand,” I say.

“Oh, well, that’s a real shocker, isn’t it?” Rayna says. Turning back to Galen she says, “Seems like you’re always trying to send me away.”

“Seems like you never listen,” Galen returns.

“I’m your sister. My place is with you. Who is she to us?” she says, nodding toward me.

I move away from the table to put distance between Galen’s sister and me. The energy in the room is no longer a spark, but a full-blown inferno.

“Are you okay?” he says. “You should sit down.”

Rayna rounds the corner of the table and clutches the back of a chair. “Why are you still here, Galen? It’s obvious she’s just a pathetic human who couldn’t even save her own friend. Course, we know how bloodthirsty they are, how little a reason they need to kill each other. Maybe she let her die on purpose.”

I push away from the counter. “What did you just say?”

“Rayna!” Toraf bellows. “ENOUGH!”

“Emma, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Galen says, pulling my wrist to come back to him.

Rayna’s smile is vicious when she says, “Oh, yes, I do, Emma. I know exactly what I’m talking about. You. Killed. Chloe.”

I’ve never been in a fight before. Technically though, this won’t count as a fight—this will be murder. For the first time in my life, precision replaces clumsiness. Even in bare feet, I run fast enough to knock the breath out of her. Ramming my shoulder into her gut, I pick up her legs and sprint her into the closest wall. She’s more muscular than me. About two seconds ago, she thought she was angrier, too. But Rayna doesn’t know what beyond-pissed-off really means—and I’m about to school her on it.

She clenches her teeth with the impact and grinds out, “See Galen? Her true colors are coming out!”

I punch her so hard my fist and her face should be broken. But both still work fine, because she head-butts me right between the eyes, and I use that same not-broken hand to box her ear. Somehow we scrap our way into the living room. I’m vaguely aware of Galen and Toraf scuffling. Galen’s mom is screaming as if her leg’s been amputated.

I’ve outstayed my welcome here. I will never be invited back. My chances with Galen ended when I tackled his sister. And when I punched her. And just now, when I kick her so hard she dry heaves.