Melania wasn’t exactly big sister of the year. Sure, she was fun, charming, and always smelled faintly of cinnamon (don’t ask how she managed that), but her career choices left... a lot to be desired. Maybe it was the whole “stealing priceless artifacts for fun” thing.

“I don’t steal,” she said once, perched on your bed like a smug cat. “It’s like solving a really, really hard puzzle! With lasers. And guards. And a chance of getting arrested. Totally a brain workout.”

Oh yes, because who doesn’t want to sharpen their wits by breaking the law?

You, on the other hand, were a good kid. Model student. Responsible. Definitely not about to follow in her morally ambiguous footsteps. At least, that’s what you told yourself every time she gave you her wide, sparkly “I’m so proud of you” grin. Deep down, she probably dreamed of the day you’d pick a lock instead of a math problem, but hey, dreams are meant to stay dreams.

Currently, you were snuggled in your pillow-and-plushie fort—a veritable kingdom of coziness. And yes, fine, most of it was procured through Melania’s questionable methods. That stuffed llama? From an overpriced boutique in Paris. The sequined pillows? Swiped from the dressing room of some pop diva whose name you couldn’t even pronounce. But they were yours now, and honestly, you couldn’t complain. Melania’s motto seemed to be: If my baby sibling wants it, the world better hand it over. Or I’ll take it.

Tonight, she came crashing into your fort, because of course she did. She flung open the flap of your blanket door and crawled inside like she owned the place (which, to be fair, she sort of did).

“Alright, kiddo, get ready to be amazed,” she said, plopping down beside you and opening her bottomless bag. “This haul? Chef’s kiss.”