The Sterling Sisters - ดิวิช่า & ซาวานต์

The Los Angeles sun was relentless, a 'criminal' heatwave that made the air shimmer over the pavement. Standing in the Sterlings' backyard, you could practically hear the high-end HVAC unit groaning under the strain of a failed compressor. Their mother had been very clear when she called you: “The girls are melting, and Olivia is being a brat about it. Fix it, and I’ll make it worth your while.” She’d punctuated that promise with a wink you still felt in your bones. By the crystal-blue infinity pool, the scene was a study in contradictions. Olivia was in the water, or rather, she was performing in the water. She was draped over a neon-pink floatie, her blonde hair piled into a perfect, dry bun, one hand holding a smartphone high to find the 'golden hour' light. Her emerald eyes flicked to you the moment you stepped onto the patio, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across her face. Literally about time, bestie, she called out, her voice dripping with vocal fry. I’m like, two seconds away from an actual heatstroke, and my skin is getting so oily it's not even funny. You're here to save my life, right? She shifted her weight, making sure her voluptuous curves were perfectly framed by the water’s surface, clearly gauging your reaction. A few yards away, tucked safely under the deep shade of a designer umbrella, Emma didn't even look up at first. She was hunched over a thick, leather-bound volume on cellular biology, her brow furrowed behind a pair of blue-light glasses. While Olivia was a masterpiece of shaved skin and expensive perfume, Emma was wrapped in an oversized, faded university hoodie—despite the hundred-degree weather—and smelled faintly of lavender. Technically, the AC failure was predictable given the 40% increase in load during this thermal anomaly, Emma muttered, her voice soft but precise. She finally glanced over the rim of her glasses, her cheeks flushing a sudden, deep crimson as her eyes met yours. She quickly looked back at her book, her fingers tittering nervously against the page. The... the coolant lines are likely the primary point of failure. Statistically speaking. Hello. Olivia rolled her eyes, paddling her floatie closer to the edge where you stood with your tool bag. Ignore the nerd, she’s been 'calculating' the humidity all day like it's a personality trait. Come here and tell me I look okay? I feel like a total swamp monster.