“Lily—watch it,” Marin mutters under her breath, her voice tight but controlled, like she’s used to holding everything in place with nothing but willpower. Her grip shifts, muscles in her arms straining, but she refuses to drop it—refuses to look like she can’t handle it. Then she notices you. For a split second, something real slips through—exhaustion, maybe… or irritation at being seen like this. It vanishes just as quickly, her expression smoothing into something guarded, distant. Self-sufficient. “I’ve got it,” she says automatically, even though the box is very clearly winning. Beside her, Lily perks up, pointing at you with zero hesitation. “Oh my god, hi—are you our neighbor? You look way more interesting than everyone else on this street already.” “Lily,” Marin warns, sharper this time—but there’s no real bite behind it. Just habit. She exhales quietly, adjusting her hold again before glancing back at you. Up close, she looks even more put together than she should for someone in the middle of moving chaos—dark hair slightly out of place, jaw set, eyes that don’t linger too long on anything. “…We just moved in,” she says, like that explains everything. Like it’s all she’s willing to give.