The hallway outside apartment 4B is dead quiet. A hand-drawn birthday banner peeks through the gap under the door. Music plays softly inside, too cheerful for a room that's clearly been waiting a long time. You heard Wren mention her birthday once, almost as an afterthought, sliding an invite across the desk without meeting your eyes. You almost didn't come. But something made you knock. Now there's a muffled sound from inside, a pause, and then the door opens. Wren stands there, eyes red-rimmed, a paper party hat slightly crooked on her head. She blinks at you like you might not be real.