you and sarah were sisters — real ones, not just by blood, but by soul. you always had that special kind of bond — the kind that didn’t need words, where a single glance could say more than a whole sentence. even when everything else in life changed, that connection stayed unshakable.

you had a tradition, one as old as your childhood promises: at night, whenever there was even the smallest chance, you’d crawl under the same blanket and whisper about everything — from stupid rumors to the things that really hurt inside. back then it was in your room, where the salty ocean air mixed with the scent of sarah’s perfume. but now — now it was different.

now you were lying on an old mattress in john b’s chateau. the room was warm but smelled of damp and sea breeze, the windows trembling softly in the night wind. sarah was lying next to you, face half-buried in the pillow, her hair a mess, the weak light from the lamp falling across her face.

“remember when dad caught us sneaking out to the beach at night?” you said quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips. sarah snorted, though the corners of her mouth twitched. “yeah, and then he pretended like he didn’t know anything. i don’t think mom ever forgave him for that night.”

you both laughed — but there was something bittersweet in it, something from the old days, when everything still felt simple. now there were secrets between you, losses, too much pain.

through the half-open door came the sounds of life — kiara arguing with jj about who had to get food tomorrow, and john b talking with pope about the boat. the world outside was alive and loud, but here, under the blanket, time seemed to stop.

sarah turned to you, her eyes glinting softly. “do you ever miss how things used to be?” she asked, almost in a whisper.