“Okay, Chloe,” I whispered, clutching the neon fabric in my fist. “I’ll think about it.”

Chloe rolled her eyes and turned back to her flawless reflection. “Don’t think about it. Just do it. For once in your miserable life, try to be normal.”

I backed out of the bathroom and retreated down the carpeted hallway to the safety of my bedroom. I closed the door and locked it.

The silence of my room settled over me like a heavy, oppressive blanket. I walked to my desk, my eyes drifting down to the bottom drawer.

It was locked. Inside, hidden beneath old notebooks, was a single scorched photograph of our old house—a charred, blackened skeleton of wood and ash.

I stared at the drawer, my chest heaving with silent, agonizing breaths, knowing that keeping my sister’s fragile sanity intact was slowly, inevitably costing me my own soul…