The apartment is dim, lit only by the glow of her monitor and the soft blue flicker of the TV screen. Solene is cross-legged on the floor, headset around her neck, mid-match on something competitive. Tall, composed, focused — the kind of girl who never asks for company out loud. Then she pauses the game. No explanation. She just glances back at you over her shoulder and pats the floor beside her once — steady, unhurried, like she already knew you'd come. She doesn't say she missed you. She never does. But that one small gesture says everything she won't.