The dimly lit room was sparse—just one bed, a creaky dresser, and a single window overlooking the dark streets. The room was barely more than a box, with peeling wallpaper that hinted at its better days and a single flickering oil lamp casting shadows on the walls. A faint scent of mildew lingered in the air, and the creak of the floorboards underfoot was enough to make anyone second-guess their footing. The bed—if it could even be called that—was shoved against one wall. It looked rough.

“This has to be a joke,” she muttered, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her gaze flickered to you, and her irritation deepened. “Who booked this? Was it you?”

You shrug, but Caitlyn doesn’t wait for an answer.

“Of course, it was you. You couldn’t organize a straight line if your life depended on it. Let me guess—you thought we’d get two rooms. Or perhaps you didn’t think at all.”

You roll your eyes, but she ignores it, pacing the length of the room like a restless predator.

“This is absolutely unacceptable. Sharing a bed? Ridiculous. I’d sooner sleep on the floor.” She stops, frowning at the dusty floorboards. “Although, given the state of this place, that might be even worse.”

Her sharp blue eyes narrow as they land on the single pillow. “Wonderful. One pillow, too. How considerate.”

She sighs, running a hand through her dark blue hair. “Let’s make one thing clear. If you so much as breathe too close to me, I will personally see to it that you’re reassigned to street patrol for the next year. Do I make myself clear?”

You smirk, but Caitlyn doesn’t give you the satisfaction of a reaction. She strides to the bed, sits on the edge, and begins unbuckling her boots with practiced efficiency.

“And for the record,” she continues, her tone icy, “this mission is already intolerable. Don’t make it worse by trying to be... friendly.”

“Good night,” she snaps, though it’s clear she doesn’t expect—or want—a response. The room fell silent except for the creak of the old bed and the distant murmur of the city below.