The soft glow of the living room lamp cast a warm pool of light over the scattered blankets and cushions strewn across the floor. The faint scent of popcorn lingered in the air as Camila and Thomas moved slowly around the small space, preparing for a rare movie night together—a fragile attempt to steal a moment of peace from the chaos that had consumed their lives.
Camila settled onto the floor, tugging a blanket up over her knees, while Thomas adjusted the volume on the television, the muted opening credits flickering on the screen. For a while, they sat in companionable silence, the quiet broken only by the occasional crackle from the speaker.
Finally, Camila exhaled and turned toward Thomas, her eyes reflecting a mixture of exhaustion and resolve.
"I keep thinking about Harriet... about what she told us." Her voice was soft, but steady.
"She was there the night mom died. She wanted to kill her. That shook me more than I expected."
Thomas nodded, sinking back against the sofa cushions, eyes fixed somewhere just beyond the room.
"I know. It's like... everything we thought we understood just slipped through our fingers. But I keep telling myself Harriet wouldn't actually do it. She's not that kind of person."
Camila's gaze drifted to the flickering screen, lips pressed together.
"I want to believe that, too. I have faith she wouldn't hurt her Grandma. But now? I'm not sure about anything anymore. Sometimes I feel like we're all walking on a thin wire, and any step could send us falling."
Thomas reached out, taking Camila's hand in his, their fingers intertwining.
"We've been through hell. We all have secrets that weigh us down. But maybe the truth is heavier than we thought. It's what we do next that counts."
Camila gave a small, tired smile.
"Remember university? We were so different back then."
Thomas smiled faintly, eyes softening.
"We were a mess, but we worked. I remember that late night in the library—when you looked so tired but refused to stop, and I made you take a break, even if you didn't want to. I think that was when I started seeing you... not just as a teammate, but as someone I cared about."
Camila squeezed his hand gently.
"We never admitted it, not then. We buried it under all work, the stress. But love has a way of sneaking in, doesn't it?"
Thomas nodded.
"Yeah. Even now, with everything falling apart, that's what I hold on to—the fact that beneath the exhaustion and chaos, we do love each other. We always have."
Camila's eyes glistened with unshed tears.
"I want to believe that love is enough to get us through this. But sometimes, I'm terrified it won't be."
Thomas pulled her closer, resting his forehead against hers.
"We'll figure it out. Together."
The movie played on, its dialogue fading into the background as they sat close, wrapped in the fragile comfort of shared fear, love, and hope, bracing themselves for the uncertain days ahead.
Upstairs, the rain had deepened outside Aura's window, no longer a gentle tap but a steady, melancholic rhythm against the glass. It filled the silence in her room like a backdrop to everything unsaid. The air was thick with the scent of lavender lotion and the faint hint of the shampoo she'd just used, but none of it soothed the twist in her stomach.
Aura sat on her bed in an oversized hoodie, her knees drawn up to her chest, the edges of her sketchbook peeking out from under her. She hadn't drawn in days. She hadn't felt like herself in days. Jackson was on the floor beside her, lying on his back, arms folded behind his head, watching the ceiling like it held all the answers.
His eyes red almost like he was battling another hangover. Or maybe 'tiredness' as he would tell everyone else.
"I don't know what the hell happens now." Aura murmured suddenly.
Jackson turned his head to look at her. She wasn't crying, but there was something raw and frayed in her voice, like the last string holding her together was thinning.
"I keep thinking about what the detectives said." she continued, her voice small. "About Harper.. with the gun."
Jackson didn't respond right away. He knew better than to rush her. Aura had always been the calm, composed one—their steady lighthouse—but lately, even she seemed to flicker in the storm.
"I really want to believe Camille was with Harper that night." she said, her fingers knotting into the fabric of her sleeves.
Jackson sat up slowly, his expression sobering.
"You really think Harper could've done it?"
"I don't know what I think anymore." Aura's voice cracked. "But people keep disappearing or breaking in this family. I feel like I'm standing in a room where everyone's slowly turning into ghosts."
She glanced down, then whispered, "What if none of us really make it out of this?"
Jackson moved closer, his voice low but certain. "We will."
Aura met his eyes, her brows drawing together. "How can you be so sure?"
"Because we're still here to tell the tale." he said. "Even when it fucking sucks. Even when it feels like the walls are closing in. We're still showing up. You and me. Our family. That means something."
Aura looked away, blinking hard. "I'm really scared for us."
"I know." Jackson said. "Me too."
There was a pause, long and loaded.
Aura was quiet for a long moment. Then she reached out, threading her pinky through Jackson's. A silent promise, one they'd shared since they were little.
"You're not allowed to fall apart before I do. Anything that happens, we snap out of it and keep pushing." she said.
Jackson smirked. "I won't. But if I do, you can slap me back to reality."
Aura laughed softly, wiping at her eyes. "Deal."
They sat there, pinkies linked, as the rain thickened outside—youngest siblings grounded in the unknown, clinging to the only truth that mattered in the moment: they still had each other.