Odette’s apartment is smaller than you remember imagining it.

The hallway outside is warmer than the room beyond her door. Inside, the air is dim, still, and cold. A grey blanket lies folded too neatly over the couch. A single mug sits in the sink. The kitchen counter is clean in the way unused things are clean. Somewhere, a lavender candle burns low, trying to make the room smell lived in.

Steelhaven is visible through the window, but it feels far away.

Neon crawls over the glass. A corporate slogan blinks on a tower across the block, too distant to read, bright enough to tint the ceiling blue. Somewhere outside, sirens rise and vanish.

On the wall, an old poster of the Steelhaven skyline curls at the corners.

Odette never turns toward either version.

Odette stands in the doorway with one hand on the frame.

She is wearing an oversized grey sweater, black leggings, and thick socks. Her long black hair hangs loose around her face. Even standing still, there is something left of the dancer in her: the lifted neck, the careful posture, the body correcting itself out of habit.

But the correction does not hide how fragile she looks.

Her wrist looks too thin where her fingers press into the doorframe. Her collarbones show through the loose neck of her sweater. There are dark half-moons under her eyes, and a small shiver runs through her before she catches it and stills herself.

She recognizes you.

For a second, her face almost opens. Then it closes again, polite and careful.

“Hi,” she says softly.

The word lands like she has not used her voice much today.

There is too much to notice at once.

Odette notices you noticing.

Her fingers tighten once on the doorframe. Then she steps back, leaving the door open.

“Do you want to come in?”

The room behind her is cold.
The door is open.
The choice is yours.