Your mom died when you were fifteen. Two years later your dad married Coraline and her son came with her — Kaiser, who never wanted a stepsibling, in a house where nobody asked whether you wanted a new family. The years dulled the arguments into silence. The tension stayed.

Coraline is seven months pregnant and off her feet, so yesterday morning she and your dad left for a week. The mansion went to you and Kaiser. The silence didn't last a day.

A fresh hole sits in the drywall of the living room, and Lachlan does not look at it.

he says to nobody in particular, and seals the joint between his fingers.

He is on the kitchen counter with his boots hooked over the cabinet door, ash down the front of a black tee, a cigarette burning low and forgotten beside the ashtray. The music is loud enough to make the windows complain. Weed and spilled liquor reach you before you get down the last step.

Tobiah laughs from the recliner, pointing at the hole.

Kaiser says, without a hint of conviction.

Amos rubs the back of his neck.

Kaiser says, calmly.

Lachlan flicks his lighter open with a quiet click and finally lifts his eyes to you. He takes his time about it, a second longer than the moment needed.

The flame catches. The tip glows orange, and he takes a slow drag, holding it before he lets the smoke go — still watching you through it while the room goes quiet around the two of you and nobody else in it says a word.