Chapter 1
The bass from the speakers was still vibrating in Jack’s chest as they tumbled out of the backseat of Leo’s Tahoe. It was a humid Friday night in July, the kind of thick, heavy air that clung to skin and made everything feel slightly surreal. The streetlights hummed, casting long, stretching shadows across the pavement of the driveway.
"Best party of the summer, hands down," Jack declared, stretching his arms over his head. His voice carried that easy, resonant confidence that came naturally to him, the kind of kid who won trophies just for showing up. He spun around to face the car, leaning down to look at the driver. "Leo, you are a legend for getting us out of there before the cops showed up."
Leo grinned, the sharp, predatory sort of smile that had half the swim team and the entire cheerleading squad trailing after him. He killed the ignition but kept the headlights on, flooding the front yard with harsh white light. He rested one arm casually along the top of the steering wheel, the sleeves of his fitted polo shirt straining slightly against biceps that were practically honed by physics and chlorine.
"I'm a legend because I know how to drive, Jack. Something you’d realize if you ever got your license," Leo shot back, his voice dripping with that signature cocky charm. He tapped the horn lightly, a sharp beep that cut through the quiet suburban night. "Get out of here before your mom starts looking through the curtains."
"Love you too, man," Jack laughed, slamming the door shut with perhaps a little too much force. He stumbled slightly, catching himself on the mailbox, before turning to his sister. "You coming, Cara? Or are you waiting for Leo to tuck you in?"
Cara rolled her eyes so hard it actually hurt, a practiced gesture she’d perfected over eighteen years of being Jack’s twin. She adjusted the strap of her messenger bag, feeling the comforting weight of it against her hip.
"I think I'd rather drown in the neighbor's pool than listen to you try to be funny for another second," Cara retorted, shoving past Jack with a force that made him chuckle. She turned back to the idling car, gripping the open door frame. "Thanks for the ride, Leo. And sorry about Jack. I think his brain is 80% chlorine at this point."
Leo laughed, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to vibrate right through the chassis of the car. He looked past Jack, his eyes locking onto Cara. In the harsh glare of the headlights, the teal tips of her brown hair looked like vibrant streaks of neon. "No worries, Cara. Someone has to keep this one alive. Besides, it’s entertaining to watch him try to function on land."
Cara offered a small, genuine smile. Despite the jock exterior and the ego that took up half the neighborhood, Leo had always been decent to her. He was the brother she never asked for but usually didn’t mind having around, especially when he kept Jack occupied.
"Whatever," Jack grumbled, making a rude gesture in Leo's direction before turning toward the house. "I'm going to annihilate a pizza and then probably pass out. Don't stay up all night screaming at your computer, Cara. Some of us have actual practice in the morning."
"Screwing up your backstroke isn't practice, Jack, it's recreational drowning," Cara fired back, though there was no real heat in it. It was their rhythm. A constant background noise of sibling bickering that had been the soundtrack of their lives since they were in diapers.
Jack flipped her off again without turning around and fumbled with his keys at the front door. The porch light flickered on, triggered by the motion sensor, casting a warm, yellow glow over the well-manicured lawn. It was a stark contrast to the alternative, neon-lit world Cara often preferred to retreat into.
"Bye, Leo," she called out, giving a half-hearted wave before sliding the Tahoe’s heavy door shut.
She hurried up the walkway, the gravel crunching satisfyingly under her combat boots. She caught the front door just as Jack was letting it slam shut, slipping into the cool, air-conditioned entryway of the house. The smell of lemon polish and leftover takeout instantly replaced the humid night air.
"Jack?" she called out, kicking her boots off and leaving them haphazardly by the mat. Her mom would have a fit about the clutter in the morning, but right now, Cara just wanted to get upstairs.
"Kitchen!" Jack’s voice echoed back, accompanied by the aggressive crinkling of a bag of chips.
Cara trudged up the stairs, the wood groaning under her weight. Her room was her sanctuary, a chaotic divergence from the rest of the house’s pristine order. Posters of obscure indie bands and concept art from her favorite shooter games plastered the walls, overlapping in a collage of color. Fairy lights were strung haphazardly around the ceiling, casting a warm, ambient glow that was perfect for late-night drawing sessions.
She dropped her messenger bag onto her desk, the sound of her tablet and a collection of pens clattering together. She let out a long breath, shaking out her hair, feeling the residual adrenaline from the party fading into a familiar, comfortable loneliness.
She pulled her hair tie out, shaking her head until her brown hair fell loose around her face. The teal strands, usually bright and defiant, looked a little dimmer in the soft light of her room. The party hadn't been *terrible*, really. It was just loud. And crowded. And full of people like Jack and Leo. People who moved through the world with the certainty that they belonged in it, while Cara felt like she was constantly waiting for a loading screen that would never finish.
She flopped onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling where a glow-in-the-dark star was slowly losing its adhesion. It hung by a single corner, drooping like a wilted flower.
"God, I'm tired," she muttered to the empty room.
She let herself lie there for exactly three minutes, counting the rotations of the ceiling fan, before her bladder forced her into action. With a groan, she pushed herself off the mattress and trudged back downstairs to the kitchen.
The scene was exactly as she expected. Jack was leaning against the massive granite island, halfway through a sub sandwich that looked dangerously close to falling apart in his hands. The fluorescent light above him hummed, illuminating the medals and ribbons that were still magnetically pinned to the fridge from their senior awards night.
"Took you long enough," Jack said around a mouthful of turkey and cheese. "I thought you passed out up there."
"God, you're repulsive when you eat," Cara grimaced, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. She leaned against the counter opposite him, twisting the cap open. "Did you have to inhale the entire thing? I think Mom actually bought that for lunch tomorrow."
Jack shrugged, swallowing hard. "Fuel for the machine, Cara. Unlike you, I actually burn calories when I'm awake. I don't just sit in a chair and develop carpal tunnel."
"It's called artistic endurance," she countered, taking a long swig of water. The cool liquid helped wash away the dry, stale taste of the party air. "And for the record, my reflexes are top-tier. I could probably snipe you from across the map before you even figured out which button makes you jump."
Jack snorted, a sound that was half-amusement, half-indigestion. "Please. You and your little cartoon wars. I live in the real world, Cara. Where water resistance is a thing, and you can’t just hit 'respawn' when you drown."
"The real world is boring, Jack. That’s why people invented graphics cards," she said, pushing off the counter and heading back toward the stairs. "I'm going to bed. Try not to choke on that sandwich while you dream about your own reflection."
"I love you too, weirdo!" Jack called out, his voice echoing up the stairwell as the refrigerator hummed loudly in the sudden silence.
Cara woke to the blinding assault of the mid-morning sun and the persistent, rhythmic thumping of a basketball against concrete. It was the sound track of her summer: Jack and Leo, unable to sit still for more than ten minutes, engaging in some form of physical exertion.
She groaned, pulling her duvet up over her head to block out the light. It was no use. The house was already vibrating with activity. Downstairs, she could hear the clatter of dishes, her mother loading the dishwasher aggressively and the low hum of the TV.
Throwing the covers off, Cara swung her legs out of bed and padded over to her mirror. The teal tips of her hair were sticking up at odd angles, a chaotic bird's nest of brunette and blue-green. She grabbed her brush, working through the tangles while staring at her reflection. Dark circles smudged the skin under her hazel eyes, remnants of a late-night raid in her MMO that had lasted until 3:00 AM.
She washed her face, the cold water shocking her into something resembling consciousness, and pulled on an oversized band t-shirt and a pair of loose shorts. If she was going to spend the day in her chair, she might as well be comfortable.
Downstairs, the kitchen smelled of coffee and burnt toast. Her mother was already dressed for work, typing furiously on her tablet at the kitchen island.
"Morning, sweetie," her mom said without looking up. "Jack and Leo are already at the pool. Jack said they’re going to the gym later, so they’ll probably eat enough to feed a small army when they get back."
"Sounds like Jack," Cara mumbled, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and pouring the dark roast that was waiting for her. "What are the chances they break something before noon?"
"Low. They break things when they're trying to show off, not when they're just swimming laps," her mom said, finally looking up over her reading glasses. She sighed, scanning Cara’s outfit. "Are you planning on staying inside all day again? The weather is supposed to be nice."
"I have commissions to finish," Cara lied smoothly. She did have commissions, but she also had a pressing need to level up her enchanting skill in her latest game. "And the sun is my enemy. You know this."
Her mother clicked her tongue, a sound of mild disappointment that Cara had learned to tune out years ago. "You’re eighteen years old, Cara. This is your free time before the real world starts. You should be at the beach, or... I don't know, hiking with friends."
"I am with friends," Cara countered, blowing on the steaming liquid in her mug. "Digitally. And we're saving the realm from a dragon cult. It’s very important work."
"Hiking gives you Vitamin D," her mother said, standing up and grabbing her briefcase. "Dragon cults give you carpal tunnel. Just... think about going outside for a bit, alright? The pollen count isn't even that high today."
"Sure, Mom. I'll go outside. I'll photograph some rare moss for the texture library," Cara lied effortlessly, leaning against the counter as her mother kissed her cheek.
"That's my girl," she said, sounding suspiciously relieved. "I'll be back by six. Don't burn the house down."
"No promises," Cara muttered to the empty kitchen as the front door clicked shut.
The silence that followed the front door closing was heavy, but it wasn't the oppressive kind. It was the kind of silence that Cara paid good money for with her behavior, a currency of withdrawal that bought her solitude.
She took her coffee upstairs, the ceramic mug warm against her palms. When she reached the landing, the thumping of the basketball against the driveway pavement had ceased, replaced by the distant, rhythmic slap-slap-slap of wet skin hitting concrete. Jack and Leo had moved to the pool. She knew this routine intimately. Ten minutes of "street ball" to show off for the imaginary neighbors, followed by three hours of actual training because neither of them could turn off their competitive drive.
Cara settled into her chair, the leather creaking in protest. She booted up her rig, watching the familiar LEDs cycle through their RGB startup sequence. While the tower hummed to life, she reached into her messenger bag to retrieve her sketchbook.
The book wasn't there.
