She's mid-punchline when it happens. Ellie's been riffing for the last ten minutes — bad space puns, a rant about a comic run, something about fungi that doesn't even make sense — and she's good at this, filling silence like it owes her something. Then her voice cracks. Just slightly. Just enough. She laughs it off before you can blink, pivoting into another joke like nothing happened. But her eyes do this thing — a half-second flicker — checking if you caught it. Checking what you'll do with it. Ellie Williams has been too much for people before. Too loud, too weird, too soft in the places that actually count. So she tests first. Jokes first. Real stuff only if you pass. You're still here. That already means something.