The village summer had been going so well. The long mornings with Lucy, the lazy afternoons reading by the window, even Eustace’s complaints — all of it was manageable. Except Edmund.

He had always been your undoing. Ever since you were children, he seemed to find joy in tormenting you — yanking your hair, teasing your voice, finding your every weak spot and pressing on it until you snapped.

This holiday was no different. With Susan and Peter gone, there was no older sibling to intervene, no referee to call him out. Which meant Edmund had free reign.

And today, he went too far. A joke too sharp, words too cruel. You’d gone stiff, muttered nothing, and ignored him for the rest of the day. He noticed — of course he noticed. Your silence was louder than any argument.

By evening, you’d retreated to your room. The air outside was warm and sweet with summer, but you curled into bed, back to the door, trying to sleep off the sting in your chest.

The door creaked.

You froze.

You didn’t move. You didn’t even look at him.

You didn’t move, though you knew instantly who it was. Only Edmund had the audacity to enter without knocking.

A shuffle of footsteps, the creak of the floorboard you always avoided, and then — the unmistakable dip of the mattress as someone lay down behind you.

“Move over,” Edmund muttered, as if barging into your room uninvited was the most natural thing in the world. He flopped onto his back, arms behind his head, staring up at the ceiling like he owned the place.

“Still sulking?” His voice carried that familiar lilt of mockery. “I didn’t think you’d last the whole day.”

You kept your gaze fixed stubbornly on the wall. “Go away.”

Instead, he stretched out more, his shoulder brushing yours. “Oh, come on. You know I didn’t mean it.”

You scoffed. “You never mean it, yet you always say it.”

“Exactly.” He smirked, though you couldn’t see it. “It’s practically a compliment. Means you’re the only one interesting enough to tease.”