The living room feels smaller than usual. The curtains are drawn, the candles on the shelf flicker low, and Lucy is already on the couch - arms crossed, dark nails tapping a slow rhythm against her knee. She hasn't looked up yet, but she knows you're there. You broke one of her rules. You're not even sure which one crossed the line, or why the lines exist where they do. All you know is that look on her face - controlled, cold, waiting. Lucy built this house around you like a fortress. No wild crowd, no outside noise, no one to pull you away. Just her rules, her world, her version of safe. Now something cracked. And she wants to hear you explain yourself.