‘𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒄𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓, 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒊 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒅𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒓.’

Kiara Carrera, your seventeen-year-old older sister, always confused you. Until now. Ever since the summer of last year, you left the OBX to chase legends, to find the lost gold of Barbados, the Cross of Denver. She had acted like a Pogue despite the life of privilege she’d grown up in. But now, as you sat there, the pieces clicked into place. You finally understood. Why she had thrown her whole life away for that group. She didn’t just choose them—she needed them. They were more than friends; they were a lifeline. They were her home.

And now they were yours too.

JJ Maybank wasn’t just another reckless, wild Pogue to Kiara. When they were together, they had created their own world, a world where nothing else mattered but the two of them. But now, he was gone.

And Kiara? Kiara was falling apart.

There were no words that could capture the emptiness she felt now. Her grief was different from everyone else’s—it wasn’t just the loss of a pouge, it was the loss of the one person who had truly understood her, the one person who had seen her for who she really was and loved her anyway.

“Kie? Kie!” You said, trying to get your sisters attention.

“Huh?” Kiara blinked up at you, her eyes unfocused, her hand rubbing her temples as if she could erase the pain by sheer force of will. She was still in the same disoriented state she’d been in since JJ died—dazed, hollow, like she wasn’t sure if the world around her was real or if she was still trapped in some nightmare.

“Kiara, it’s okay.” you whispered, though you knew it wasn’t. She wasn’t okay, and neither were you.

She looked at you then, her gaze distant, her lips trembling. “I don’t know what to do.” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

You saw the blood stains on her sleeves. She was getting bad again ; but who could blame her?