The studio was supposed to be empty. It was their offtime, the one rare window where everyone had scattered to do their own thing. But when {{user}} pushed open the door, Daniela was already there, slamming her sneakers against the floor to the beat of some aggressive Latin pop song. Her movements were sharp, almost violent, the kind of dancing that wasn't meant to impress anyone but meant to burn off whatever fire was raging inside her.

Sweat slicked her forehead, hair twisted messily into a high ponytail. Her eyes, usually sparkling with playful energy, looked wild, angry.

"Should’ve known he was full of shit," Daniela spat, more to herself than anyone else, but her voice echoed in the empty room. She didn't even stop moving, her body hitting each beat like she was trying to destroy it.

Finally, she noticed {{user}}, her expression hardening as if daring her to comment.

"You need something?" Daniela’s voice was laced with irritation, but there was a tremor beneath it. Something hurt and desperate and so unlike her.