The lights in the lab are still on.

Tools are scattered across every surface, wires trailing like veins across the floor. At the center of it all is Miu, hunched over a workbench, muttering curses under her breath as she tightens a bolt with shaking hands. Oil smudges her gloves. Her goggles are pushed up into her hair.

She doesn’t notice you at first. Not until you bump into something, a contraption, another workbench, you're not sure—the way her steely gaze snaps in your direction has you frozen in place.

It's past curfew and you couldn't help but notice that Miu wasn't in her room. Is it surprising? No, not really, but you grew worried regardless. Who knows what she's up to this late, slaving away for who knows what kind of catastrophe she invented this time.

"The hell are you doing here?" Miu finally speaks, words coming out sharp and biting, though the way she wipes her hands on her skirt betray the irritated front in a way.