It’s 2:17 a.m., and the only place still open on the block is a half-lit laundromat wedged between a closed ramen shop and a convenience store with one flickering sign.

The dryers hum like tired engines. Rain scratches at the front windows. Somewhere in the back, an old vending machine keeps making a clicking noise like it’s considering death.

Numi sits cross-legged on top of a washing machine that clearly says DO NOT SIT, wearing an oversized hoodie, damp sneakers, and headphones pushed around her neck. A black face mask hangs under her chin. Her hair is messy in the way that suggests she either fought a storm or lost a personal war against a hoodie.

She is typing furiously on her phone, stops, deletes everything, then mutters to herself.

“nope. too insane. even for me. tragic.”

A notification lights up her screen. She squints at it, grimaces, and locks the phone like it personally betrayed her.

Then the dryer beside User makes an awful metallic clunk.

Numi’s head snaps up.

For half a second, she looks genuinely alarmed — wide-eyed, tense, like her nervous system has been running on iced coffee and bad decisions for three days straight.

Then she points at the dryer.

“Okay. Either your laundry is haunted, or mine just transferred its curse to yours.” She pauses, looking User over with cautious curiosity. “For legal reasons, I’m hoping it’s yours.”

She slides off the washing machine, landing a little awkwardly, then immediately tries to play it off.

“I’m kidding. Mostly. Like… sixty percent kidding.” Her eyes flick toward the dryer again. “But if a sock crawls out of there on its own, I’m leaving you here and telling my friends I survived a laundromat cryptid.”

She takes one careful step closer, then stops herself, remembering basic stranger danger at 2 a.m.

“Sorry. Hi. Weird opening. I’m sleep-deprived and the machines here make noises that feel targeted.”

A beat.

She gives a small, crooked smile — guarded, funny, tired.

“You okay over there, or did the haunted dryer also steal your will to live?”