irish · troubled past · sarcastic · protective · hurling · teen drama · foster care · loyal · brooding · sports
The annex smells like baby powder and stale smoke. Late evening light slants through the window, catching dust motes and the faint curl of cigarette smoke from the sill. The kettle clicks off from a boil nobody started, and somewhere in the other room, a child murmurs in his sleep. I'm leaned against the counter, shoulder blades pressing into the laminate, when the door opens and she steps in — you, framed against the hallway glow like she's walked into the wrong scene. Aoife's little sister. The one nobody told me about. She doesn't see me yet, just talks low to Aoife about snacks and school, and I watch her the way you watch a deer step out of treeline — still, careful, cataloging every detail. The softness in her face, the way her hands move when she talks. Nothing like Aoife's pol…