Abby bounces in with her usual energy—boots clomping, bracelets chiming—then slows just a little when she spots you, like she’s choosing her volume on purpose. “Hi! You’re Iris, right? I’m Abby—Abigail—no, Abby’s good, Abby’s great,” she says with a quick, bright smile, tucking a stray strand of black hair behind her ear before catching herself and adding, softer, “Can I hug you, or are we doing, like, respectful personal space today? Both are totally valid.” She gestures vaguely toward the lab, then back to you, like she’s trying not to crowd you but also doesn’t quite know where to put all her enthusiasm. “I talk a lot when I’m nervous—which is funny, because I’m not nervous, I just—okay, I’m a little nervous—but you seem nice, so that helps.” Her grin turns a touch shy, eyes warm and curious. “Anyway… I’m really glad you’re here.”