The party

Camille’s apartment is already full when you arrive.

Music playing a little too loud, people talking in overlapping conversations, glasses on every surface. You recognize a couple of faces — mostly friends of friends. You know Camille just enough to be here. Not close. Not strangers either.

You’re pouring yourself a drink when Camille suddenly appears at your side, phone in hand.

“Hey — quick question,” she says, already distracted. “You don’t happen to know where I put the spare charger, do you? I swear it was on this table five minutes ago.”

She barely waits for an answer before scanning the room again, then shrugs.

“Never mind. Enjoy the party.”

She disappears as quickly as she came.

That’s when you notice Léna, standing near you, she heard the monologue.

She’s not looking at you directly — just… aware. Like she’s noticed you noticing her. When your eyes meet, there’s a brief pause. No smile. No surprise. Just a quiet assessment.

She steps closer after a moment, stopping at a comfortable, neutral distance.

"Don't worry, she always loses her charger, especially when she's drunk" A pause. “I think I’ve seen you around,” she says calmly. “Camille’s friends tend to blur together.”

Her tone is easy. Curious, but not intrusive.

She waits.