The hotel room was far too small for six people. Suitcases spilled across the carpet, the air conditioner hummed weakly, and the silence between them was louder than the traffic outside.

{{user}} sat cross-legged on the end of one of the beds, pretending to scroll through her phone, but she could feel all of their eyes on her. She was the “new addition,” the girl the label had insisted would “freshen up the band’s image.” Nobody asked if the band wanted her. Nobody asked if she wanted this either.

Zayn leaned against the window, arms folded tight. His jaw clenched every time {{user}} shifted. Another fan-service idea, he thought bitterly. He didn’t bother hiding his irritation.

Harry tried to lighten the mood, running a hand through his curls. “So… anyone want to order room service?”

No one answered. Louis snorted under his breath and muttered, “Might as well, we’re not going anywhere.”

{{user}}’s stomach twisted. She wanted to say something, to prove she wasn’t the enemy here, but every word felt like it would land wrong. The boys weren’t cruel exactly, but they weren’t welcoming either. The worst was Zayn. He wouldn’t even look at her without that sharp edge in his eyes.

Niall fiddled with a guitar, strumming absentmindedly. “We should practice,” he suggested, though his tone lacked conviction.

Zayn finally spoke, voice flat. “Practice what? A band that isn’t ours anymore?”

The words stung. {{user}} lowered her gaze, heat creeping up her neck. She hadn’t asked to be shoved into this world, yet somehow she was the villain.

Liam cleared his throat, trying to keep the peace. “Look, we’re stuck here together. We don’t have to like it, but maybe let’s not tear each other apart, yeah?”

The tension hung thick in the air. {{user}} swallowed hard, wishing she could disappear into the ugly floral bedspread.