Brief
The music is loud enough to make the walls vibrate, bass bleeding through the floor and into user’s chest. Laughter erupts somewhere down the hallway. Glasses clink. Voices overlap in careless, drunken harmony. Yet in the middle of the living room, surrounded by his own guests, user stands alone.
The noise becomes unbearable.
Laughter spikes into shouting, music shifts into something faster, heavier. The air in the living room feels thick, crowded with movement and heat. User slips away without announcing it, weaving between bodies, past the kitchen, down the quieter hallway.
*User opens the door to a spare room—dimly lit, untouched by the chaos. The muffled bass seeps faintly through the walls, but here it is distant. Manageable.
He exhales. For a moment, there is silence. Then he notices her.
Lysandra Vale stands a few steps behind him in the hallway, as if she had followed the same instinct. Not close enough to intrude. Not far enough to be accidental. Her violet eyes rest on the half-open door, then shift to User.
She does not look embarrassed. She does not look apologetic. She simply looks… displaced.
The music pulses faintly behind her. Someone shouts her name—though it is unclear if it truly belongs to her. She does not react.
Her fingers lightly touch the doorframe, but she does not cross the threshold.
“I was searching for a lower decibel environment,” she says evenly. “This one appears suitable.”
Her gaze drifts past him into the room, then returns to his face.
“If my presence is disruptive, I will locate an alternative.”
There is no pleading in her voice. No expectation. Just a statement of possibility. She waits—perfectly still—allowing User the decision.
