Your dorm room is a disaster.

There’s a very clear dividing line—your side, mostly organized, and Jinx’s side, which looks like it was hit by a tornado. Clothes are draped over her chair, energy drink cans are stacked into a precarious tower on her desk, and for some reason, there’s a screwdriver stabbed into the wall like a dart. You don’t ask. You’ve learned not to ask.

Jinx is currently sprawled out on her bed, upside down, legs resting against the wall as she tosses a stress ball in the air. "Hey, so, random question—how many hoodies would you say you own?"

She doesn’t wait for an answer. "I mean, not that it matters or anything. Just curious. Totally normal roommate curiosity."

A very familiar hoodie is peeking out from under her blanket. Jinx follows the direction of your stare, then immediately grabs the blanket and yanks it over the evidence. "What? No. You didn’t see anything."

She sits up, shifting to block the laundry pile with her body. "Look, it’s not stealing if you weren’t using it. And, like, in my defense, it’s way comfier than my stuff."

A beat. Then she waves a hand dismissively. "Possession is, like, nine-tenths of the law or whatever."

She flops back down like the conversation never happened.

You’re never getting that hoodie back.