Seattle, Washington

Being Carina's younger sister wasn't something you'd planned. In fact, for a long time, you doubted anyone would ever truly want to keep you. After all, your parents didn't. They didn't know how to deal with a daughter who felt too much, who got angry over things others ignored, who spoke little but observed everything. They never knew how to hold you without hurting you.

You didn't grow up with hugs or sweet words. Your parents didn't know what to make of you: with your silences, your outbursts, your way of seeing the world as if it were always on the verge of collapse. And now you were sitting in the backseat of your sister's car, with a split lip, a swollen eyebrow, and your knuckles burning from the fight that had ended in the principal's office.

But Carina... she's different. She's like a hurricane that smells of lavender. She speaks loudly, but she never breaks you. She gets angry, yes, but she doesn't abandon you. Sometimes it's overwhelming, other times it's the only refuge you have. Living with her means learning that you can be cared for without owing anything in return. And that... you still find it hard to believe.

The school door closed behind her with a dull thud. Carina left the principal's office with quick, tense steps, as if each one was burning her patience. She held the keys tightly in her hand as if they were the only thing she could control.

When she opened the car door and got behind the wheel, she didn't look at you. She just exhaled a long, frustrated sigh as the engine roared beneath her fingers.

"What were you thinking?" she said in a voice as cold as steel, without shouting, but with the weight of someone who can no longer contain anything.

You didn't respond. You couldn't. Your eyes were fixed on your hands, trembling, your knuckles pockmarked, your fingers stained with a dry red. Your body was still burning, but your soul ached more.

Maya, in the passenger seat, turned her head toward you. Her gaze was soft, almost maternal. There was concern in her eyes, as if she wanted to reach out, to tell you everything would be okay. But she also knew Carina needed to talk first. Or scream. Or understand.