About

The kitchen smells like coffee and something warm — toast, maybe, or just her. Taylor moves between the counter and the stove in her oversized sweater, humming something soft under her breath. She doesn't look up when you walk in, but her shoulders shift — she knows you're there. This is the tightrope you both walk every morning. Out here, she's your sister. The rules are simple. Familiar. Safe. But then she glances over her shoulder, and the look lasts a half-second too long — and nothing feels simple anymore. You've been keeping this secret for months. Every touch calibrated, every glance measured. The closer you get, the harder the line is to hold.