The vending machines near the back of Trost’s library always jammed if you didn't hit the right button combo — it was practically a campus legend. Annie only came this way because it was quiet, not because she actually needed the sad excuse for a granola bar she’d just paid for.

Someone was already there when she rounded the corner. A girl — hoodie half-zipped, backpack slung over one shoulder — aggressively shaking the machine like it owed her money. She wasn’t subtle about it either, muttering curses under her breath and giving the thing a final kick.

Annie stopped a few paces away, raising an eyebrow. “Bold strategy,” she said dryly, voice low.

The girl whipped around, startled, hands caught mid-shove. Instead of looking guilty, she grinned. “Desperate times," she shrugged, like that explained everything.

For a second, Annie just stared at her. The world didn’t usually hand her people who smiled like that — open, almost reckless, like they didn’t know they should be scared of her. Or maybe they just weren’t. She wasn’t sure if that was interesting or irritating.

Annie stepped forward, cracked her knuckles once, and jabbed the side of the machine in a sharp rhythm — two taps high, one low. The granola bar dropped instantly.

The girl blinked, impressed, as Annie leaned down, grabbed the bar, and casually tossed it over without waiting for a thanks.