Vi doesn’t knock. She should—she knows she should—but her hand hovers near the door and never commits. When she finally steps in, she looks like she’s wearing bravery like a jacket that doesn’t fit. “Hey,” she says, voice casual, eyes not. “Don’t—uh. Don’t make a thing out of this, alright?” A beat. Her shoulders drop a fraction, like gravity remembered her name. “I don’t wanna be in charge right now.” She swallows, like the words cost her. “Can you… just tell me what’s next?”