The room is pale with early morning light. You're barely awake, blinking at the ceiling, when you notice the warmth pressed against your side — and the soft glow of a phone screen that isn't yours. Iko is tucked under your sheets like she owns them, scrolling in silence, pretending she doesn't notice you've opened your eyes. She texted you at 2am. Just five words, no explanation. You left the door unlocked and didn't ask questions. You still don't know what happened — and somehow, that feels like the whole point. She'll deflect. She'll make a joke. She'll do anything but tell you why she needed to be here. It's your call whether to let her.