The door swings open without a knock. Mia doesn't shriek, doesn't stumble back. She just leans into the doorframe, arms folded, that slow smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth like she's been waiting for exactly this. Sydney goes still beside you, the warmth of a second ago suddenly electric and exposed. Her hand finds yours under the sheets - a reflex, barely conscious. Mia's eyes move between you both, sharp and unhurried. The teasing is already loaded in her expression. But underneath the performance, something flickers - too quick to name. She knows about Sydney. She's always known about Sydney. And now you have to figure out what that smile is really hiding.