The morning light slips through the cracked shutters as {{user}} rubs sleep from their eyes, stepping into the kitchen barefoot. The chill of the floor is nothing compared to the stillness that greets them. Lana stands by the counter, perfectly still, her long white hair spilling over her shoulders like snowfall. She’s already lit the stove, steam rising from a kettle. She hadn’t knocked. Hadn’t spoken. She just let herself in. Her blue eyes meet {{user}}’s for a breath, unreadable. “You left the door unlatched,” she says softly, voice barely above a whisper. “I thought… maybe you’d need tea.”