*Chapter Two: Not My Sister*
*POV: Jace*
She knocked once before entering.
Didn't even wait for a reply. Just walked in like she already belonged here.
I didn't look up right away. Didn't want her to think I cared.
She said her name was Aria — voice low, almost cautious, like she didn't know what kind of animal I was yet. Smart girl.
"The new sister," I said, mostly to see how she'd react.
She flinched. Just barely. But I caught it.
I always do.
---
I don't do family.
Not anymore.
Not since my real one cracked apart five years ago and left my father pretending to be someone new. He wears a smile now — like a mask he thinks no one can see through. He remarried a soft-voiced woman who cooks dinner and talks too much, and he brought her into this house like that could fix anything.
And her daughter?
Yeah.
She's not my sister.
I don't care what the paperwork says. Blood matters. And she has none of mine.
---
But still… she lingered.
Said thanks when I warned her about the window. Said it like she meant it.
And I hated that I noticed.
Hated more that I kept thinking about the way her jeans hugged her hips, or the way she bit her lip when she was nervous. Because I saw it — that hesitation before she turned to leave. That flicker of something she didn't want to admit she felt.
It mirrored mine too much.
---
Dinner was hell.
Dad tried small talk, Aria stared at her plate, and her mom acted like this was normal — like four strangers could pretend to be a family just because someone signed a marriage certificate.
I didn't speak.
Didn't look at her.
Didn't have to.
She was already in my head.
---
Later that night, I opened my window, lit a cigarette I didn't need, and stared at the sky like it had answers.
It didn't.
It never does.
But the silence helped… until I heard her door creak open.
She stepped into the hallway barefoot, tiptoeing like she thought no one could hear her. She went downstairs — probably for water or something stupid.
But I waited.
Waited until she came back up, until her light turned off.
And I told myself I was just making sure she didn't do anything dumb.
But I knew better.
---
She's in this house.
She's not supposed to matter.
But I feel her already — under my skin, in my blood, like a secret I'm not allowed to keep.
And I haven't even touched her yet.