The elevator groaned as it climbed, ancient gears grinding behind the walls. I glanced at Corvin, but he said nothing, just watched the numbers flicker upward.
Sublevel Three… Main Floor… Second… Fifth…
The numbers stopped glowing. A soft chime rang out. The doors creaked open.
Only one room waited at the top.
We stepped onto a narrow landing. A dark wooden door stood ahead, arched and old, marked with a bronze plate that read: "T-1."
Corvin pulled a brass key from his coat and unlocked it without ceremony. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges, revealing the space that would be our home for the next three years.
It was… not what I expected.
A single room stretched out before us, tall arched windows lined the curved walls, framed by heavy black curtains. A fireplace sat cold at the far end, and beside it: a bed.
One bed.
My heart stuttered.
To the right, a small kitchenette and a round table with two chairs. A clawfoot bathtub stood behind a folding screen in the corner. A narrow closet. A tall bookshelf.
But only one bed.
"This… this is it?" I asked, stepping inside slowly.
Corvin moved past me, unbothered. "It's larger than most. Consider yourself lucky."
"Lucky," I repeated under my breath, still staring at the bed.
I tried not to fidget with the red folder in my hands. I tried not to show that the idea of sharing a bedroom...a bed...with someone I'd just met made my stomach twist in eight different directions.
Corvin tossed his coat over the arm of a nearby chair and wandered to the windows. He didn't open the curtains, just looked out as if remembering something long buried in the dark beyond the glass.
"Are you from a fortunate family?" he asked, his back still turned to me.
"No, not really," I replied. "My dad's a pilot, and my mom's a computer engineer. We all live together in the same house… just me, my parents, and my aunt. Her partner died during a mission to the neighboring colony."
"But they are well known?" he asked.
"The Commissioner worked for my grandfather," I answered. "Besides that, no."
"I see," he said distantly. "Listen, I'm not sure why we're partners, but we'll just have to try and make the best of a tough situation."
He turned to face me, his expression unreadable, distant, but not unkind.
"You can take the bed," he said simply. "I don't sleep much."
Of course he didn't.
I set my folder down on the table, unsure what to do with my hands, my thoughts, or the echo in the silence between us.
The lights above flickered briefly, then steadied.
"I've never shared a bed with anyone before," I said softly.
"It's been some time since I have," he stated.
"What job were you assigned to?" I asked.
"Bookkeeper," he replied.
"Me too," I said. "Honestly, I was surprised, but kind of relieved. Like it could have been something worse. Unpredictable."
"You like the ordinary and predictable," he said with a soft chuckle.
"Well, it feels safer," I admitted. "Why don't you?"
"I am not one to ever live in the mundane," he said with a smirk. "But I can certainly try."
Somewhere beneath us, a bell chimed. Orientation was about to begin.
"We'd better go… before we're late. They don't like late," Corvin said, already heading toward the door.
A crisp voice echoed from the phone resting on the kitchen table:
"Please report to the auditorium for orientation."