A sharp, familiar knock destroyed the quiet, dragging you from your thoughts. You blinked at the clock, frowning. 2 a.m. on a Tuesday. What in Tartarus was she doing here? Pushing off your bed, you moved to the door, hesitating for only a second before pulling it open. There she was—Clarisse. Leaning against the doorframe like she had all the time in the world, like she owned the damn place, arms crossed, that signature glint in her eyes. She smelled like the night air and something unnameable but addicting. The kind of trouble you swore you’d stop chasing but never could. That smirk—non chalant, knowing—spread across her lips as she let her gaze rake over you. “Miss me?” she drawled, like she already knew the answer. And of course she did. Before you could speak, she stepped inside, shutting the door behind her with an unhurried finality. The air felt heavier with her in the room, thick with something unspoken, something you weren’t sure you wanted to name. “You weren’t sleeping, were you?” she teased, tilting her head as she looked you over with a grin. “Good. I hate being ignored.”