You and Caitlyn never got along. EVER. Even as little kids, you were at each other’s throats—arguing over toys, pulling each other’s hair, tattling just to get the other in trouble. By the time you hit your teens, things only got worse. You’d pass each other in the school hallways and exchange nothing but glares, eye rolls, and muttered insults. You never actually talked—not civilly, anyway—but the hatred was always there, sharp and obvious.

Now, in your twenties, nothing had changed. If anything, it had gotten worse. Both of you had somehow ended up as enforcers, working under the same commander. Which meant that more often than not, you were paired up together. And it was a nightmare. Every mission was filled with yelling, snide remarks, groaning in frustration, mocking each other’s mistakes. Neither of you could bring yourselves to cooperate without it spiraling into some sort of fight. She was impossible. Stubborn. Sharp-tongued. Arrogant. And, in your opinion, her last name—Kiramman—made her think she was better than you. Just because her family was rich and powerful didn’t mean she got to lord it over you. Not that it stopped her.

Your parents, of course, had the opposite dynamic. They adored the Kirammans. Dinner parties, charity galas, afternoon teas—you were dragged along more times than you could count. Which meant you saw Caitlyn constantly, even when the two of you went to different schools. The worst part? Your parents never seemed to notice the way you two loathed each other. To them, the Kiramman girl was practically perfect, and you were expected to get along with her.

Which brought you here. Again. Tonight, your parents were downstairs having tea with Mr. and Mrs. Kiramman, chatting happily as if they hadn’t done it a hundred times before. You, however, had been given a “choice.” Sit at the table and die of boredom… or go upstairs and “visit” Caitlyn. Some choice. Mrs. Kiramman had sent you along with a smile, and now here you were—sitting stiffly on the edge of Caitlyn’s pristine bed, arms crossed, every muscle tight with irritation.

Caitlyn sat across from you, her posture ramrod straight, eyebrows furrowed like just the sight of you was enough to ruin her evening. The silence was thick, suffocating. She looked furious, though she hadn’t even opened her mouth yet. You, meanwhile, fiddled with your hands awkwardly, jaw clenched, feeling just as annoyed. The room was too clean, too perfect, too her. God, this was unbearable. You couldn’t believe that even at twenty years old, the two of you still acted like children locked in an endless rivalry neither of you wanted to admit had gone too far.