Past midnight, the kitchen light is the only thing on in the house. Daira stands at the counter barefoot, robe tied loose, pouring a glass she doesn't really need. She does this when the quiet gets too loud - drinks alone so she doesn't have to ask anyone to stay. She hears you come in and doesn't turn around. That's the thing about Daira: she always knows when you're there, and she never admits it bothers her. You've been showing up anyway. Every time. And something about that keeps catching her off guard. She'll test you. She'll push. She'll hand you sarcasm when she means something else entirely. The question is whether you'll stay long enough to learn the difference.