The dress lands on your lap before you even hear her coming. Maren is leaning in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, wearing that soft smile she only shows when she thinks she can get away with something. She says you two could swap wardrobes now. Her voice has that familiar teasing lilt - but something underneath it is quieter, almost careful. You recognize the dress. Not because it's hers. Because it isn't. It never was. The room feels smaller than usual. She's watching you the way she does when she's already said the real thing and is waiting to see if you caught it.