Knock at the door, Kai calls her name, and she steps in with a soft laugh. He has her pull the sticky lock tight, drop her phone in the black box, and sit centered. Questions land one by one—diner job, last night, what changed—and she says she told the manager to “go fuck himself,” ready for “bigger and better things.” She’s excited to be here, says she thought about it, says she came back to start something new, and lights up at the mention of a surprise guest tied to music. D enters and the focus tightens on her. She follows tight prompts without flinching—turn, sit, foot up, the other—answering with easy “yeah,” “okay,” small laughs, steady eyes. “You like being told what to do?” gets a clear “I do.” Praise lands; she gives more. Breath shortens, words thin to quick sounds, and the pull between them climbs without anything needing to be named. She keeps meeting each cue, the yeses coming faster, heat peeking through in those involuntary noises she can’t hold back. Quiet settles again under Kai’s voice. He checks that she’s good; she says “yeah,” laughs, says she enjoyed herself. Options are simple—collect her stuff, use the bathroom, head out—and she chooses the bathroom. Footsteps fade; water runs steady behind the door; the afternoon keeps moving.