The dorm lobby smelled like stale pizza and desperation—familiar and almost comforting after the sterile chill of the police station.
I hauled my duffel up the stairs, the strap digging into my shoulder as Mordred's warnings kept echoing in my head.
He'd insisted on tailing me to the building entrance, his bike idling like a watchful beast until I waved him off.
"Stay safe," he'd texted as I climbed the steps. "And call if anything's off."
My key stuck in the lock, and I shouldered the door open, expecting the usual chaos of Lesley's K-pop posters and scattered makeup. Instead, I froze.
A girl I didn't know was curled up on my bed, fast asleep under my faded blue comforter with her dark hair fanned across my pillow, one arm dangling off the edge.
Lesley sat cross-legged on her own bed, scrolling her phone, but she looked up and squealed like I'd risen from the dead.
