The forest night wraps our campsite in a quiet embrace, stars glinting through the pines, the air rich with campfire smoke and pine. I’m nineteen, tucked into a cramped tent with my eighteen-year-old sister, Kylie, and my mother, Rachel, on a family trip far from home. Kylie’s nearness — her warm skin, her teasing whispers — stirs a restless heat, echoing last summer’s forbidden touches. In this nylon cocoon, with Rachel’s steady breaths nearby, the tension hums, daring us toward a reckless edge.