The house was loud in that familiar Cameron way, music bleeding from the living room, people laughing too hard, someone yelling about cups and ice. Sarah’s birthday always turned the place into a storm. You had escaped it by claiming boredom and ending up in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, scrolling through nothing in particular.

Being Rafe’s stepsister for a year now meant you knew how this went.

You and Rafe didn’t get along very well. That had been established pretty early on, somewhere around the first awkward family dinner and never really fixed. Still, you could communicate. Short sentences. Eye contact that lasted just long enough. He gave you rides when you asked without making it a thing, and sometimes he dragged you along with his friends like you were part of the group by default. No warmth, no hostility. Just a quiet truce.

The fridge opened behind you. You didn’t have to look to know it was him. Heavy steps, impatient movements, the sound of glass bottles knocking together.

“You hiding in here or something?” Rafe said.

“Yeah,” you replied. “It’s either this or listen to Topper explain beer pong rules like it’s a science.”

He huffed. “Can’t blame you.”

He grabbed a beer, then another, like he was already planning to disappear back into the noise. Then he paused.

“You gonna stay stuck in here all night?” he asked, not looking at you.