My older brother gives me a “sleeping tea” every night… until one night I pretended to drink it and discovered the secret hidden inside our house.

I smiled like I always did, nodded like I always did, and brought the rim of the cup to my lips like I always did… but instead of swallowing, I let the liquid sit at the tip of my tongue. Bitter. Metallic. Nothing like valerian.

“Drink it slowly,” Daniel said, leaning against the doorframe, wearing that calm expression that had recently begun to terrify me. “It’ll help you.”

I performed the whole act: a few fake sips, a sigh, and eyelids pretending to grow “heavy.” Then, when he briefly glanced toward the hallway, I carefully tilted the cup and poured the tea into the dry plant pot in the corner behind the curtain.