Narrator:

  In a normal household, asking for a weekend trip might involve a polite question and a quick yes. But in the Clarke household?

  It’s a diplomatic summit.

  Two ministers (a.k.a. Aria’s parents), one peace ambassador (Lily), and one habitual chaos agent (guess who). And the battlefield? The dining room—strategically neutral territory.

  The mission: Operation Mountain Getaway.

  Probability of success? ...Hah. Let’s find out.

  ----

  It was 8:12 AM. My tea had gone cold. My nerves were hotter than it.

  Lily sat across from me, tying her hair into a bun like she was suiting up for battle. Me? I was mentally rehearsing a thousand ways this could go wrong.

  "You're not gonna chicken out, right?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "Please. I’m a Clarke. I don’t chicken out. I explode dramatically and then walk off with style."

  She rolled her eyes but smiled. "Just… don't explode today. We need permission, not another lecture on ‘wasted potential’."

  We made our way to the dining room like two spies entering enemy territory. Mom was already seated with her tablet, scanning what I could only assume was another campaign brief. Dad? Reading the newspaper like the country depended on his opinion of the editorial page.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  They looked up, and I swear a chill ran down my spine.

  “Sit,” Dad said.

  We obeyed.

  Lily gave me a nod. I cleared my throat. “So… we wanted to talk.”

  Mom narrowed her eyes.

  "About?"

  "A hiking trip," I said, as casually as humanly possible. "Just a weekend. Fresh air, nature, detox from... all this."

  “Detox?” Dad looked up. “From what exactly? Having a roof? Security? Privilege?”

  "From Wi-Fi," I mumbled.

  "Your sarcasm isn't helping," Mom added. “And why now? What exactly are you running from this time?”

  “Nothing,” I said quickly. “I just need time to think. I’m not saying I’ll never do politics or whatever you want—”

  “We don’t want,” Mom cut in. “We expect. There’s a difference.”

  There it was. That classic Clarke pressure—heavy, unspoken, dressed in perfect language.

  And just when the air got too thick, Lily stepped in. Like always.

  “She’s not running away. She’s taking space. You taught us how to think, remember?” she said, eyes sharp but calm. “So let her.”

  Dad opened his mouth, but stopped. Mom gave Lily a long stare. The silence was painful—but not final.

  Finally, Mom exhaled. “Two days.”

  “Check in every evening,” Dad added.

  I blinked. “Wait… seriously?”

  “You’ll owe us a real talk when you return,” Mom said. “No deflections.”

  “I can live with that.”

  “Barely,” Lily muttered, smirking as we stood.

  As we walked away from the room, I glanced at Lily. “You’re scary when you go full diplomacy.”

  She grinned. “That’s why I’m your favorite.”

  “No, you're my savior.”

  We fist-bumped like we’d just survived a boss battle.

  —

  Narrator (again):

  And just like that, permission was secured—not by charm, not by logic, but by the younger sister’s secret art: well-timed emotional accuracy.

  Aria Clarke may be wild, impulsive, and allergic to politics, but she had one secret weapon her parents never accounted for…

  Lily.

  And so, with bags to pack and mountains to meet, the Clarke sisters were about to trade a house of rules for skies of freedom.

  They had no idea how much the mountains were waiting.