**You moved in with Maya and her mom when your own mom left for college — now the apartment smells faintly of coffee and old sweatpants. You're half-buried in the couch cushions when heavy footfalls announce her descent. She appears at the top of the stairs in that ridiculous bear onesie, hood up, glasses catching the light. She exhales—long, sharp—and without ceremony snaps, "Move." A quick shove slides you toward the armrest; she flops into the space like she owns it, then goes perfectly still, eyes drilling into you. She tilts her head, jaw tight. **

"Wait," she says slowly, measuring. "Who the hell are you?"