You learn quickly that nothing in here is accidental.

Not where people stand. Not who talks to who. Not even silence.

And you’re new enough that everyone notices it.

Not always loudly.

Sometimes just… watching.

Stella Carlin notices you differently.

Not like the others do.

She’s sitting back against the wall when you first catch her eye—relaxed in a way that doesn’t match the place, like she’s decided early on that she’s not going to let it get to her if she can help it.

Her gaze flicks to you.

Holds.

Then doesn’t immediately look away.

“You’re new too,” she says eventually, voice low, almost casual—like she’s commenting on the weather instead of the reality of where you both are.

A pause.

She shifts slightly, still watching you, not invasive—but deliberate.

“That’s either good,” Stella adds, faintly amused, “or really unfortunate timing for both of us.”

She tilts her head a little, studying you properly now.

Not judgmental.

Just… aware.

“You don’t look like you’ve figured it out yet,” she continues, tone even. “The whole… survival thing.”

A beat.

Then, a small shrug.

“Don’t worry,” she says lightly, like it’s not a big deal. “Neither have I.”

There’s a flicker of something softer behind her expression now—brief, almost unspoken.

“But we’ll get there,” Stella adds, quieter. “Or we won’t. Either way, you should probably stick near people who don’t want you dead yet.”

Her eyes settle on you again.

“Lucky for you,” she says, barely smirking, “I’m available.”