My eyes snapped open without warning, the remnants of a nightmare clutching at my chest as if to squeeze the breath right out of me. I bolted upright against my headboard, pressing a hand flat against my heart, willing it to slow from its frantic pounding. The room was steeped in darkness, thick and suffocating, but I scanned desperately for any lurking threat—and found none.

The abrupt, violent swing of my door jolted my gaze to the entrance. Zach stood framed there, his tousled dark hair a wild halo in the dim light spilling from the hallway. His eyes, still heavy with sleep, searched my face with soft concern.

"Are you okay, Aves?" His voice was rough with sleep, low and tentative.

Guilt burst through me like a wave, and my eyes dropped to the pale sheet beneath me. A faded rose embroidered next to a delicate butterfly caught my attention, distracting me from the storm inside.

"Sorry I woke you," I murmured, voice barely audible as I brushed a tear away from my cheek. The sharp sting of salt clung to my bottom lip.

Zach shook his head silently and slipped inside, closing the door behind him just enough to let a sliver of hallway light creep in. He settled on the edge of my bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, then spread his arms wide—an unspoken invitation.

Without hesitation, I leaned into him, feeling the solid strength of his shoulder beneath my head. The weight in my throat swelled, nearly choking me, but the familiar scent of his shampoo and faint traces of pine calmed my frayed nerves.

After moments of stillness, he finally broke the silence. "Was it one of the nightmares?"

I nodded, muffled against him, words caught somewhere between lips and lung.

"Want to talk about it?" His voice was gentle, probing.

I shook my head. There was nothing new to say. Everyone knew the recurring terror—the night Mom was taken from us. Six years on, the shadows still haunted me, less often now thanks to therapy, but never gone. My therapist called it normal. I called it a curse I wasn’t sure would ever lift.

"Sleep with me?" I whispered once my breathing steadied. Zach nodded, quietly pulling away.

I slid toward the center of my king-sized bed. Zach grabbed the crumpled covers scattered on the floor and beckoned me closer. I obeyed, scooting over so he could claim the fluffiest pillow—the one I’d been resting on. I shot him a scowl, but he just smirked and made himself comfortable, stealing my pillow like the little thief he was.

His gentle snores soon filled the room. I sighed and turned my back to him, closing my eyes and searching for sleep in the fragile quiet.

...

The shrill blare of my alarm sliced through the morning haze, forcing me awake. I stayed wrapped in my blankets, hoping Zach would kill the noise. But when a minute passed with its relentless ringing, I shifted, realizing the bed beside me was empty.

A cold draft crept across my exposed skin as I swung my legs over the edge, the chill a rude awakening from the warmth of sleep. My mind snapped to the day ahead—my last first day of high school—stirring a mix of dread and determination. It was a tradition, a final chapter, and I wanted to face it with freshly washed hair.

I dashed to the bathroom for a shower, the hot water cascading over me, washing away the shadows of the night. Emerging rejuvenated but still uneasy, I trudged to my closet, only to be greeted with disappointment.

The only pants that fit were a pair of painfully tight skinny jeans—more second skin than fabric. Their khaki color and golden seam traced every curve, leaving nothing to the imagination. My thighs flexed beneath the material, a constant reminder of the attention they’d draw.

I rolled my eyes. There was no way my brothers would let me step outside like this.

Grabbing one of Tristan’s oversized sweatshirts—stolen from his room during a moment of rebellion—I slipped it on and shuffled downstairs, dread pooling in my stomach.

To my surprise, the kitchen was nearly empty. Just my three younger siblings sat scattered around the island, quietly spooning cereal with distant expressions. Their silence was thick, almost uneasy.

"Where’s everyone else?" I asked, pouring myself a bowl at the counter opposite them.

Zach didn’t look up. "Work," he mumbled, eyes fixed beyond me, on some unseen point.

The word hung in the air, heavy with unspoken tensions. I nodded, forcing a smile I didn’t feel, and took a seat at the wooden table by the window. Slipping earbuds in, I cranked the music loud and opened a book on my phone, trying to drown out the world.

It didn’t work.

A sudden weight settled behind me, arms wrapping around my shoulders, pinning me gently against a firm chest. A hand slid an earbud free, and a familiar voice whispered, "Excited for the first day?"

I groaned, twisting to glare at Hunter. His dark green eyes, so like my own, searched my face with amused patience. "Stop creeping up on me like that, you creep!" I swatted his arms away, though a smile tugged at my lips.

"And you need a haircut," I added under my breath, earning chuckles from Xavier and Tristan, who just appeared in the doorway. Aiden was there too, leaning against the frame with that infuriating smirk.

He was the bane and the bane only—Aiden Rossi, my brothers’ best friend and the thorn in my side for over five years. Once someone I’d called a friend, but now the tension simmered between us like a hidden fire, with his snide remarks and relentless opinions on everything I dared to do or wear.

Despite the morning’s unease, I squared my shoulders, ready to face the day. The final first day. The last chance to carve out some semblance of normalcy before the shadows of our world crept in again.