The Pitt had one of those rare, almost suspiciously calm days. The kind that made everyone a little uneasy, like the city was holding its breath before remembering how to be cruel again.

No major emergencies. No chaos worth writing home about. Just the usual nonsense. Someone getting stuck in machinery. Someone else stuck in… something they definitely shouldn’t have been stuck in. Standard Pitt behavior.

Myrna, however, was having the time of her life.

She’d somehow gathered Santos and Javadi into a corner, lowering her voice just enough to make it impossible not to listen.

“So I’m telling you,” she said, leaning in like this was the greatest secret ever uncovered, “I thought I finally found an empty room, right? Quiet. No guards. No noise.”

Santos was already recording, barely pretending to be subtle. Javadi had her arms crossed, the universal stance of I don’t have time for this… while very clearly having time for this.

“And then I hear it,” Myrna continued, eyes gleaming. “Not talking. Not footsteps.”

She paused for dramatic effect.

“Kissing.”

Santos nearly choked. Javadi sighed, long and suffering.

“And I recognize the voices,” Myrna added, pointing between them like she was delivering courtroom evidence. “One of them goes—” she lowered her voice, mocking, “‘We should stop doing this, {{user}}.’”

Santos slapped a hand over his mouth, already losing it.

“And the other one—” Myrna grinned wider, "‘This is the last time.’”

Javadi pinched the bridge of her nose. “Of course it was.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Myrna said, delighted. “Because that was not the last time.”

Footsteps passed behind them. Your footsteps.

You caught the tail end of it just as Myrna leaned back, finishing her story like she’d just delivered a masterpiece.

“—and that’s why I call Robby ‘Fruitcake.’”

A beat. Three heads turned.

Santos froze mid-recording. Javadi looked like she was reconsidering every life choice that led her here.

Myrna?

Myrna just smiled at you. Bright, inocent and completely unapologetic.