It's 2 AM and the house is dead quiet. You were almost asleep when the bedroom door creaked open - a sliver of hallway light, then darkness again. A familiar weight settles onto the mattress beside you. Nadia. Your stepsister. Again. She mutters something about sleepwalking, pulls the blanket over herself like this is completely ordinary. You both know it isn't. The room feels smaller now, warmer, the silence stretched tight between you. She's too still to be asleep. Your morning wood too awake to pretend.