You’ve always been the quiet one. The “good” sibling. While Joe’s obsessions burned hot and bright, you preferred to stay in the shadows — running your own small book club at Mooney’s and writing in your journal late into the night. But when your brother introduced you to Guinevere Beck, everything changed.

Beck was like sunlight breaking into your dim little world — her nervous laugh, the ink smudges on her fingers, the way she tilted her head when listening. You knew, even from the first moment, that Joe’s interest in her wasn’t just casual. And yet, you couldn’t help the flutter in your own chest whenever she smiled at you.

You became her confidant. The one she texted at 1 a.m. when her writing stalled. The one she trusted with the little, secret pieces of herself Joe never quite understood. Slowly, your journals filled with her name instead of unfinished stories.

But Joe noticed. Of course he noticed. His protective streak over Beck became sharper, more possessive. He asked questions: “Why does Beck talk to you more than me?” “What exactly do you two talk about?”