The ventilation system hummed its mechanical lullaby somewhere overhead.
Sunlight filtered through half-closed blinds, painting pale stripes across unfamiliar walls.
Wrong walls.
I blinked slowly, head thick with the weight of interrupted sleep.
The ceiling above me stretched plain and functional—nothing like the white expanse of Haejun's suite.
My fingers moved before conscious thought caught up, brushing against fabric beneath me.
Rough cotton. Standard-issue dorm blanket, not the high thread count linen that had cradled me last night.
Cedar and mint still clung to my senses despite their physical absence.
The ghost of steam against tile. Haejun's voice cutting through water sounds, telling me to stay.
But I'd fallen asleep.
On his bed. At the edge, like some pathetic satellite caught in gravitational pull.
And now I was here.
Room 205. A-rank accommodations. My assigned space shared with Doyun, who currently occupied the other bed with his back turned toward me.
