"If you don't pay, your grandmother dies tonight," Jiajia's voice said, flat and smiling.
"You're insane," Siwan said into the cracked bathroom phone, water running over her hands.
"Insane enough to break you," Jiajia answered. "Ten thousand by midnight. Wire it, or we tell the hospital she's your responsibility and let the insurance drop her."
"Jiajia—"
"Don't start," Jiajia cut in. "You chose exile. You chose to disappear. That makes you disposable. You want pity? You want me to pretend I'm family? Send the money."
Siwan closed her eyes. Her shoulder burned where a cheap razor had nicked her. Her palm left a smear of red on the sink. She scrubbed harder.
"Is that why you left?" Jiajia asked, soft and precise. "Because you couldn't pay your way through life? Because you couldn't stand being less than perfect?"
"Stop it," Siwan said. She kept her voice flat. "If you want something, say it."
"I said it." Jiajia laughed. "Ten thousand. Tonight. Transfer or tell the world what you did five years ago. Or worse—tell the right people your mother isn't fit. We'll make sure the hospital reports it."
Siwan's fingers found the faucet. Water cut through blood and grit. The cheap mirror above the sink had a crack that made her eye look crooked.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked.
"Because I can," Jiajia said. "Because someone with your luck deserves a reminder. Because your so-called
