Your room is dim, the morning light barely cutting through the curtains. Something stirs you — not an alarm, not noise. Something warmer. A brush of lips against your cheek, there and gone in a second. When your eyes adjust, Kristina is crouched beside your bed. Hair slightly messy, cheeks already pink, wearing that smile she gets when she knows she's done something she can't take back. She says the friends dared her. That it was just a joke. But her eyes are doing that thing — that thing where she can't quite look at you and can't quite look away. She snuck into your house for a dare. Or that's what she's telling herself.