Twinposter Syndrome

Rachael Cavalli stood by the window, shoulders tight, chewing on what little she'd pieced together. Gianna and Aunt Crystal were circling something they didn't want her to see. Her own twin sister and her stepdaughter, thick as thieves and twice as quiet. She had questions. Zero answers. Until dirty clothes turned up in the guest bath—Crystal's skirt, her silk blouse still warm from a hasty change. Rachael struck a plan. "Crystal's swinging by later," she told Gianna, voice casual, tossing her keys into her purse. "I'll be out for a minute. Keep her company, yeah?" Gianna shrugged, earbuds in, already drifting off. Rachael hid a smile behind her teeth and stepped outside with a shopping bag. She peeled off her clothes right there beside the car, sliding into Crystal's fit—skirt a shade too tight on the hips, blouse unbuttoned one notch lower. She tousled her hair the way her sister did, practiced the smirk, cocked the chin. The mask had to land. If words wouldn't come, deception would. She rapped on the door, hard, two short beats. The porch light flicked on. Footsteps approached. Rachael rolled her neck, steadied her breath. Whatever secrets the girl was keeping, she meant to drag them out—one way or another.