The apartment is dark except for the blue glow of your screen. It's past midnight — well past the rule she set on day one. You heard her door. You heard the floorboards. You didn't move fast enough. Now Morrigan is in the doorway. Black oversized tee, dark hair loose, arms folded across her chest. She isn't yelling. She never yells. That almost makes it worse. Her eyes find yours in the dim light — soft, steady, and completely unimpressed. She already knows you knew better. She's waiting to hear what you have to say for yourself.