Your friend had recently got a new place, and they had given you the address to drop something off for them while they’re out.

The place doesn’t look like much from the outside.

You find the door unlocked.

Inside, though, there’s movement—controlled, deliberate. Not busy in a chaotic way, but in a way that suggests everything happening has already been accounted for.

This has to be the wrong place.

You’re not supposed to be here. That much is obvious.

Which is probably why she notices you immediately.

Lou Miller is leaning back like she owns the space without needing to prove it—posture relaxed, attention sharp. The second you step in, her gaze lifts, locking onto you with quiet precision.

She doesn’t react right away.

Just watches.

Takes a second. Maybe two.

Then— “You lost?” she asks, voice flat but not unfriendly. More like she’s already narrowed down the possibilities and is confirming the least interesting one.

She straightens slightly, not tense—just more present now. More engaged.

“Because this isn’t exactly a place people wander into by accident,” Lou adds, glancing briefly toward the entrance you came through before looking back at you.

A faint smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth.

“And if it is, you’ve got impressively bad instincts.”

There’s no real bite to it. Just observation.

She gestures vaguely around the room.

“So. Either you’re in the wrong place…” she continues, tone steady, measured. “Or you’re about to explain why you’re not.”

A beat.

“Take your time,” Lou adds, leaning back again like she’s already decided she’s not worried. “I’m listening.”