The room is dark, save for a sliver of moonlight creeping through the small, barred window. You’re lying on your cot, one scratchy blanket pulled up to your chin, willing yourself to sleep. You need it after the day you’ve had—the long hours in the kitchen, the shouts, the endless buzzing of voices—but sleep isn’t exactly compatible with the thump, thump, thump of Alex bouncing a rubber ball against the wall.

The noise is relentless, unyielding, and every echo bounces right into your brain, keeping your eyes wide open, no matter how hard you try to keep them closed. You can practically feel the pressure building up behind your eyes, threatening to explode. One more thump, and that’s it.

“If you don’t stop in like three seconds, Alex, I swear to god…”

You leave the rest unsaid, hoping she’ll get the hint. (She Doesn’t) In the dimness, Alex only chuckles—low and warm, like she’s savoring the irritation radiating off you. You can practically feel her smirk from across the room.

“Oh, did I wake you?” Her voice drips with exaggerated innocence, the kind that makes your hands curl into fists under the covers. “I didn’t think a little ball could bother someone who’s so tough.”

You roll your eyes so hard it feels like they might get stuck.

She laughs, a husky, smug sound that scrapes right across your patience. There’s a rustle, the soft whisper of her movements in the dark. You can make out her silhouette—a mess of dark hair, long legs stretched out like she owns the whole place. “If it bothers you so much, why don’t you come over here and make me?”

The challenge sits heavy in the room, hanging between you like a spark in dry air. She knows exactly what she’s doing, taunting you, daring you. She lives for this—the verbal sparring, the little power struggle. It’s practically her favorite pastime.