Amara remembered screaming.
That was the first thing that came back to her—not the blood, not the knife, not the bodies. Just the sound of her own voice tearing itself free, loud enough to feel like it might split her open.
The memory returned in fragments, jagged and uncooperative, like broken glass scattered across the floor of her mind. But this part was clear.
The bedroom door had creaked open slowly.
She remembered that sound distinctly—the soft protest of old hinges, familiar and harmless, a noise she had heard a thousand times before. For half a second, her brain refused to translate what her eyes were seeing. It tried to reshape the scene into something else. Something survivable.
Daniel's body was moving rhythmically.
That alone didn't make sense. He shouldn't have been home. He had said he'd be working late. He had said—
Then her focus shifted.
Becky.
Her sister was beneath him.
Becky's legs were wrapped around Daniel's waist, her fingers digging into his bare back as though she belonged there. As though the bed had always been hers. Her hair was fanned across Amara's pillows, her mouth parted in a breathless smile.
For a suspended moment, time fractured.
Amara felt herself split in two.
One part of her floated somewhere near the ceiling, detached and horrified, watching the scene with clinical disbelief. The other part—the part rooted in her body—reacted instinctively, violently.
Something inside her snapped.
She screamed.
Not a cry.
Not a whimper.
A scream pulled from deep in her chest, jagged and unrestrained, filled with years of swallowed pain, humiliation, and silence.
"Get away from her!" she yelled, her voice shaking the room. "You're disgusting! Both of you!"
The sound seemed to hit the walls and bounce back at her, too loud, too exposed. It felt like ripping open a wound she had spent years pretending didn't exist.
Daniel froze.
His body went rigid, as if someone had flipped a switch. For a heartbeat, he didn't turn. Didn't move. Then slowly—deliberately—he looked over his shoulder.
Becky turned first.
And smiled.
The smile wasn't shocked.
It wasn't guilty.
It was wide and triumphant, stretching across her face like a reward she had finally earned. Her eyes gleamed with something sharp and cruel, something that made Amara's stomach drop.
"I told you she'd find out eventually," Becky said lazily, her arms still looped around Daniel's shoulders. She didn't even try to cover herself. "You can only lie to someone for so long."
Daniel cursed under his breath, pulling away just enough to turn fully toward Amara. His expression wasn't apologetic. It wasn't ashamed.
It was annoyed.
As if she had interrupted something important.
Amara's chest heaved as words spilled out of her uncontrollably, tumbling over each other in a rush she could no longer stop.
"You're sick," she screamed at Daniel, her voice cracking. "You're pathetic! You ruined me—you ruined us! Was this what you wanted? To crawl into bed with my sister?"
Her hands shook violently at her sides, fingers curling into fists. Her heart pounded so hard she could feel it in her throat. Every breath burned.
Daniel's jaw tightened.
His face darkened.
"Shut up," he snapped.
The command hit her like a slap all its own—sharp, familiar, dismissive.
"No!" Amara screamed back, the word tearing out of her. Tears streamed down her face, hot and unstoppable. "You made me dependent on you! You isolated me! I gave you everything—my life, my trust—and you broke me! And now you do this? I trusted you! I trusted both of you!"
Her voice cracked completely on the last word.
Becky laughed softly.
Not nervously.
Not defensively.
Amused.
"She's finally grown a backbone," she murmured, her tone almost fond. "I was starting to think you never would."
Amara turned on her, disbelief warring with rage. "How could you?" she demanded. "You're my sister. My blood. I protected you. I defended you. I loved you."
Becky tilted her head, studying her with something close to curiosity.
"You always did like playing the martyr," she said lightly. "It's exhausting."
Daniel moved then.
It happened so fast Amara barely had time to register it.
One second, he was standing at the edge of the bed, his face twisted with anger. The next, his hand was in the air.
The slap came hard.
Harder than anything Amara had ever felt.
Pain exploded across her face, white-hot and blinding, the force snapping her head to the side. The impact sent her stumbling backward, her balance gone, her body no longer hers to control.
She crashed to the floor.
Her head struck the sharp edge of the nightstand with a sickening crack.
Stars burst behind her eyes.
For a moment, there was no pain—just light and sound and disorientation, as if the world had been shaken loose from its foundations. Her ears rang violently. The ceiling blurred, spinning slowly above her.
Daniel was shouting.
His voice sounded distant, distorted, layered with panic and fury. Words reached her in fragments—angry, frantic—but none of them made sense.
"Look what you made me do—"
"I told you not to push me—"
"Get up—"
Amara tried to move.
Her body didn't respond.
Her limbs felt heavy, disconnected, as though they belonged to someone else entirely. A thick fog crept into her mind, swallowing thoughts before she could form them.
And Becky?
Becky was grinning.
Amara could see her clearly now, standing at the edge of her vision. Her sister leaned forward slightly, peering down at her with open satisfaction. There was no fear in her eyes. No concern.
Only triumph.
The kind of smile someone wears when they've finally won something they've wanted for a very long time.
"I told you," Becky said softly, almost kindly. "You should've left when you still could."
Amara tried to speak.
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
The darkness surged forward, heavy and inevitable. As it closed in, the last thing Amara saw was her sister's face hovering above her—beautiful, cruel, victorious.
Then everything went black.