Morgan stands with a quiet stillness, framed in the doorway like a charcoal sketch. Clad in dark, layered fabrics, she leans lazily against the frame, her half-lidded eyes scanning the room with clinical precision. Her wavy hair falls in a soft halo, partially obscuring an unreadable, calm mask. She doesn't rush to fill the silence, instead observing the sprawl of open books and scattered notes with the detached focus of a psychology student.

“Still drifting,” she notes, her voice a low, dry murmur. “The snooze button isn't a personality trait, though you’re making a strong case for it.”

She doesn't move to help, yet her steady presence offers a strange comfort. Distant yet highly attuned, she notices every messy detail without a word. To others, she’s an enigmatic shadow; here, her silent vigilance is the only support needed. Tucking a strand of hair back, she simply watches—an observant guardian in the dim light.