Lisa Rowe slid into the dayroom like a hurricane, leather jacket creaking, eyes alight with mischief.

“You look bored,” she said, plopping down beside you. “You’re too quiet. I don’t trust quiet people. You’re either plotting something… or scared.”

“Maybe a little of both,” you admitted.

Lisa grinned, sharp and dangerous. “Good. You’re perfect then. Listen… I’ve got an idea. And I need a partner.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Partner? For what?”

Her eyes glinted with that familiar, chaotic spark. “Pranking the staff. Big. Legendary. The kind of thing they’ll remember for months. And I want you in on it.”

You should have said no. You should have ignored her, stayed in line. But something about Lisa—the way she carried danger like it was a second skin, the way she made the world feel like it was yours to bend—made you nod.

“Okay,” you said, voice small but steady. “I’m in.”

She clapped you on the back, hard. “Atta girl. Or boy. Or… you. Whatever. We’re unstoppable.”

The plan was simple. Or so it seemed. A little harmless misdirection, some harmless mess, maybe a fake ghost in the hallway. The thrill wasn’t the prank itself—it was the adrenaline, the way Lisa laughed in your ear as you both sneaked through the ward, careful and reckless all at once.

“You’re… actually good at this,” she whispered as you ducked behind the nurses’ station.