Eshe Diallo's head bobbed like a fish on a line.

Up. Down—up, again. God, that morning espresso wasn't enough to make up for the three paltry hours of sleep the night before. A result of ass-kicking jet lag thanks to a weekend jaunt to Washington to visit Marco and Shayne.

Eshe swiped under her eyes, clearing smudged mascara—evidence she was dead on her feet and seconds away from snoring through Dr. Cavannagh's lecture on Frontotemporal dementia: signs, symptoms and diagnosis.

Grey eyes pivoted across the auditorium, lancing Eshe as if she knew what had flashed through her mind and guilty Eshe straightened, plucking up her pen like a dutiful student ardently scratching down notes.

The presentation flashed and clicked across the screen but Eshe couldn't latch on to any of it, her mind blank with static and the hum of loud pumping music from last night's rave. So loud and wild her eardrums rang all the way back to London, a swan song of dying hair cells.

Hello, Tinnitus. It was worth it, she told herself, for a night of Shayne's musical mastery because for all her talent in the ring, she was an artist behind a turntable. Eshe stifled a bloated burp and the rise of acrid booze that came with it. God, what had she hoped to accomplish? Racing to a morning lecture, fresh off the plane after a weekend long party, was a serious mark of stupidity.

The responsible thing would've been for her to have stayed home, preparing for today's lecture and lab, rather than squeezing in an unexpected state-side trip, but with all that had happened in the last few weeks, Shayne had needed the release and someone to share in it with her. With and Isobel and Priya wrapped up in work, and Cait pinned with meetings, Eshe had obliged. An act of Sisterhood.

A fun and reckless act, to be sure, but that's what friends did for one another.

Another burp, this one bringing a wave of pain to roll to the front of her skull and throb, Eshe decided she'd fought long enough in a losing battle. Time to wave the white flag and go home, crawl into bed and die.

Closing her notebook, she tucked it away in her satchel and shouldered the strap, weaving out of her row of seating and up a side of steps to the doors. Pushing out into the hall, grey, watery light pressed against her eyes and she dragged the sunglasses atop her head down, turning everything to a deep, brooding shade.

Each step pulsed in her head like a drum that kicked her temples. Pausing only long enough to make a quick stop to the cafe to buy a bottle of water, she guzzled it down and punched in a request for an Uber pick up because no way in hell was she bouncing along for near an hour on a bus.

She'd dropped her bags off at Lana's—much to her older sister's chagrin, but her flat in the city was closer to the campus then her parents home and shaved a full thirty minutes off her travel time.

I'll grab them tomorrow, she thought, yawning into her cupped hand, eyes narrowed to slits behind her sunglasses. God, even the weight of her lashes she blinked hurt. Soon as she got home, and downed a couple painkillers, she was diving beneath the covers and not resurfacing until it stopped her head rolled off her shoulders.

Whichever came first.

"Eshe."

She jerked straight at the sound of a stern voice—female, and sharp. Unmistakable. Eshe pivoted around and winced as something in her head sloshed and slammed against the dome of bone. Her brain, likely, pickled in one too many shots.

"Dr. Cavanagh."

Dr. Stella Cavannagh linked her hands before her, shoulders drawn and features set in her usual impassive glare. But Eshe sensed something brewing behind her grey eyes and she shrank from it. Shamed and embarrassed.

"Eshe, I would like to speak with you for a moment."

"But...your lecture?" Guilty, Eshe's eyes drifted down the corridor she'd escaped from, and thought of the auditorium wedged with the forty students she'd handpicked to mould in her program. A rare opportunity she'd almost lost when she'd agreed to participate in Cait's Femminizer campaign a few short weeks ago.

And then barely a week ago when Eshe had received a call from her agent, Tate Voss, about an upcoming event with

"This is important," she said, her brows drew to center, making her expression stern. "I want to discuss your recent drop in performance in my program. You're slipping and I'm concerned."

Eshe adjusted the strap of her satchel on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Dr. Cavannagh. I had a...busy weekend."

Her hands loosened and she crossed her arms, white lab coat creasing over her arms and chest. "Yes, I heard from your father all about your busy weekend."

Eshe swallowed deeply. She'd had a massive blow out with her dad over her decision to jump on a plane to visit Shayne. He couldn't understand—or her mother for that matter—why it had been so important. How could she explain to them, to any of them, what it meant to be part of the Sisterhood?

She'd called Shayne to check in and heard the fractured edges in her strong voice and knew someone had to be there for her. Shayne was their backbone, their strength and foundation—if she broke, then it wouldn't be long until the stress and strain fractured the rest of them.

And Eshe would not stand to let that happen.

Not today. They had The Code for a reason. Rule #31 – never leave a Sister in distress.

"I'm sorry," Eshe began, stroking a hand over her arm. She wore only a light sweater and the air was chill with damp. Colder then when she'd left and her jacket was buried deep in her suitcase for her to have bothered rooting it out. "I don't mean to be so...absent, but things are complicated."

"Indeed. Your father had mentioned you're modelling now," Stella said, lifting her chin. "You plan on keeping that up?"

Eshe bit down on the curse blistering her tongue. God help her, why did she have to keep defending this choice? To her parents? Her sister—and now her professor? "Yes." The word slid between clenched teeth, dry and brittle.

Stella nodded slowly, her eyes narrowed. "You can't do both, Eshe. That's a fact. Something will have to give, and I think you're making a mistake by stretching yourself this thin."

"With all due respect," Eshe forced a smile and the muscles of her face resisted, "it's my life."

And that was the truth, though an answer Stella hadn't expected, or, given the flexing of her hands at her side, one she didn't appreciate.

"I gave you a chance, Eshe, when I really shouldn't have. I turned down a hundred and forty-seven far more capable and dedicated students who would have sold their souls for your seat. But out of respect for your father—a brilliant surgeon and long-time friend, I made an allowance. A choice I'm rapidly starting to regret, but the damage is done and can't be changed."

She brushed a smooth hand over her hair, a short, blunt wedge of wiry steel around her finely lined face. Not an unattractive one, especially for an older woman who didn't give a single thought to maintenance or esthetics.

"What you do and how you do it is a mark upon me, Eshe," Stella continued, drawing closer on flat, plain shoes of a woman who prided practicality and comfort over fashion, "and your flagrant disregard for my program is a blight I will not tolerate. Either you start taking this opportunity seriously by showing not only me, but your fellow lab partners, the respect we deserve, or I will drop you." Her voice whisper soft, the words sharp as a chef's knife as she added, "I hope you bear in mind that without this program—you will fail. So ask yourself, if catering to your ego is worth sacrificing all the years you've invested in your education, a promising career in medicine, and breaking your father's heart?"

Eshe's phone hummed, and lifted it out of her pocket to see an unfamiliar number on the screen. Must be the Uber driver was here, searching for her. The campus grounds were a maze and anyone unfamiliar with it always had trouble finding this wing. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Dr. Cavannagh, but I have to go."

Stella waved her hand with dismissal. "I've said what I had to say. Next time you walk through my doors, I hope you'll have your head on straight."

But I do have my head on straight. Eshe held there for a moment and watched as Stella whipped through the doors and down the corridor. Her hair stiff as a helmet.

"Dr. Cavannagh." Eshe hurried towards her, and pressed hang up on the phone—she'd call the driver back in a moment and this was only going to take a single second. But if she was going to do this, it had to be now while she had the stomach and conviction to follow through. Stella swivelled on her horrible black shoes as Eshe lurched to a stop, her eyes wide and head light. "I quit."

"What?"

"The program. You're right—I can't do both. So I quit." A giddy laugh bubbled in her throat but she pinned it down—Holy shit!—as she prattled on, "the program is only a few weeks in, I'm sure someone else would happily take my place and make quick ground to catch-up."

Stella's mouth tumbled open, sputtered, and then snapped shut with a frown. "I'm sorry to hear it, Eshe. Truly I am. To throw everything away like this?" Her head shook in slow disbelief. Disgust. "I thought you were smarter than that."

Eshe rocked back a step, surprised by the remark. Infuriated by it. "I know you may not agree with my decision," she said after a slow, calming breath, "but what you need to understand is aspiring to be a model doesn't make me stupid. Doesn't make me weak, that I'm lacking in ambition or less worthy of respect. I am still the same woman I would've have been, were I surgeon, except freer because this is what I want for me. Not my father, not you—me." Eshe smiled gently, and though her head still pulsed with the thrumming base of a wicked headache, she felt lighter, easier then she had in years. "Goodbye, Dr. Cavannagh. Thank you for the opportunity, but I'm done. We're done."

She watched Dr. Cavannagh go, and if the door were able to slam behind it--it would have. But her heart pinched for only a moment before it sang with absolute joy. She'd been chasing someone else's dream for so long she'd almost forgotten what it felt like and that had to stop. It was time she chased after her own.

**AN**

Hey Sisters - so here's Eshe's scene and this one took a minute to develop but when it clicked - wow, it all came pouring out. Eshe's character has always been the most soft spoken one in my head and sometimes I feel like I need to push and poke and prod her buttons before she finally finds her voice to shout at me who she is and what she wants to say. It's such a crazy, awesome and yet frustrating process and hard to explain to anyone who doesn't see/hear their characters the way I do.

It's why I get so sad when a book is over because now those voices I grew so attached to are no longer speaking to me and new ones have sprung up to replace them.

So, we're almost caught up with all the girls - leaving only Cait left - and then we get to go even deeper into their lives and the chaos that's about to erupt.

Side note for anyone else who's delved into my other works - you may have seen I've completed my YA fantasy TOUCHED BY FIRE - which I am so effing proud of - and also know that I am deep in planning/writing a Sailor Moon fanfic with - titled: LOST GIRLS - both she and I will be alternating POVs and posting the story on both our profiles.

So feel free to check it out on either account. It's like the SISTERHOOD - but with cosmic super powers and light saber-esque swords. We're so excited to finally dive into this and Lindsey's first chapter should be coming any day now :)