Morning arrives without asking.
I know because the radiator starts screaming before my alarm does.
Clank. Hiss. Clank.
The sound crawls through the room, metallic and impatient, like it's angry I'm still asleep. I keep my eyes closed anyway. The ceiling above me is dim, barely visible through the filtered gray light leaking around the edges of the curtains. They haven't moved in weeks. Maybe longer. I stopped keeping track.
My phone vibrates against the mattress.
Bzzzt.
6:42 a.m.
I inhale slowly, then exhale. My chest feels tight, like I've already done something wrong and haven't figured out what yet.
"Roselle," Mara groans from the other side of the room. "If that thing goes off again, I'm throwing it out the window."
"It already did," I mumble.
"Good. Then let it die."
I sit up, the blanket sliding off my legs. The floor is freezing.
"Why is it so cold in here?" I ask.
"You refuse to open the curtains," Mara says. "The sun might actually help."
I don't answer.
She turns over in her bed, sheets rustling. "Seriously. Do you have a problem with daylight?"
"I just don't like it."
"That's not a reason."
"It is for me."
Mara sighs, long and dramatic. "You're exhausting."
"So I've been told."
I pull on my sweater, the fabric rough against my skin, and lace my shoes with fingers that feel heavier than they should. Everything feels slower lately. Like I'm moving through water while everyone else runs.
Behind me, Mara sits up. "Hey."
I pause.
"You okay?" she asks.
"I'm fine."
She hesitates. "You always say that."
"And you always ask."
Silence fills the space between us. Familiar. Comfortable in the worst way.
The campus is already alive.
Voices overlap, laughter spills out of groups clustered near the quad, backpacks swing, doors slam. Shoes scrape against concrete.
Tap. Tap. Slam.
I keep my head down as I walk, eyes fixed on the ground. If I look up, I'll have to see people. If I see people, I might have to acknowledge them. If I acknowledge them, something might be expected of me.
"Roselle!"
I flinch.
Elias jogs up beside me, grinning like he hasn't been awake since dawn for no reason.
"You walk like you're trying to disappear," he says.
"I am."
"Well, you're doing a bad job."
"Story of my life."
He laughs. It's loud. Too loud. A few people glance over. My shoulders tense.
"You ready for Keene?" he asks.
"No."
"Same. I'm convinced he hates us."
"He hates everyone," I say. "It's equal-opportunity disappointment."
"That's comforting."
We reach the lecture hall just as the doors close behind us.
Thunk.
The room smells like dust and old paper. Professor Keene stands at the front, tapping his pen against the podium.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Never a good sign.
He looks up. "Nice of you to join us."
Elias mutters, "Told you."
I slide into my seat, heart pounding harder than it should.
The lecture starts, but my mind doesn't. Words pass through the room without landing anywhere meaningful. My pen scratches useless lines across my notebook.
Scratch. Scratch.
"Miss Hansen."
My stomach drops.
"Yes?" I say, too quickly.
"Since you seem so engaged," Keene says dryly, "perhaps you'd like to summarize the reading."
I stare at him.
Blank.
"I—" My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
A few students shift in their seats. Someone coughs.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't—"
"Clearly," he interrupts. "Try harder."
The words hit harder than they should.
I nod, heat flooding my face. "Yes, Professor."
He turns away, already done with me.
I stop writing. My hands won't stop shaking.
The hallway outside the dorm is quieter than usual when I return.
Too quiet.
The lights flicker overhead.
Buzz. Click.
I slow my steps.
"Mara?" I call when I reach our door.
No answer.
The door is ajar.
My chest tightens.
I push it open.
Creaaak.
The room is dark. Wrong. The air feels heavier, like it's pressing down on me.
"Mara?" I say again.
Nothing.
I step inside.
The door closes behind me with a soft click.
Click.
I turn.
"Did you forget something?"
I freeze.
The voice doesn't belong to Mara.
It's quieter. Closer. Too close.
"Who's there?" My voice comes out thinner than I want it to.
The curtains ripple slightly.
Fffsh.
My heart slams against my ribs.
"I'm not in the mood for this," I say. "If this is a joke—"
"You don't joke," the voice says.
My breath catches.
"How do you know that?"
Silence.
Then, softly: "Why don't you ever open them?"
I shake my head. "That's none of your business."
"It is," the voice says. "It always has been."
My hands tremble as I take a step closer to the window. The fabric looks darker up close. Thicker.
"What do you want?" I whisper.
"To be seen."
A chill runs through me.
I reach out, my fingers brushing the curtain.
Cold.
Unnaturally cold.
Behind me, the radiator hisses again.
Hssss.
The room feels like it's holding its breath.
"So are you," the voice murmurs.
My grip tightens.
And I pull.