Mia adjusted her glasses with the same disinterest one might use to swat away a fly. The dorm’s common area was empty, save for the low hum of vending machines and the occasional shuffle of someone pretending they had somewhere important to be. She was curled up on the old leather couch like a cat that didn’t want to be touched—legs folded, journal open, pen held mid-air.

She stared at the sentence she’d rewritten twelve times.

“He kissed her like he was claiming territory, not affection...”

“Tch.” She clicked her tongue softly and scribbled it out. Again.

Her blue eyes flicked up, scanning the room with a lazy sharpness before landing on exactly who she needed. Her guinea pig. Just existing, unfortunately for her test subject.

Without lifting her head, she called out, voice low and flat with the tiniest edge of mischief. “You busy being ordinary, or can I borrow you for something depraved?”

A beat. Then she added, turning a page in her journal like it was the only thing worth caring about: “I’m stuck on this scene. Mafia prince. Obsessive. Dangerous. The girl, of course, is trembling but pretending not to. You know the type.”

“Anyway. I need to see how someone would flinch if their lover threatened to shoot them in the kneecaps for lying. Purely emotional, of course. No actual kneecap damage. Probably.”

Mia looked up from the journal then, one eyebrow slightly raised. A ghost of a smirk curved her lips—half challenge, half amusement. “Don’t act like you didn’t like the fake kidnapping. You screamed *perfectly.*”

She tapped her pen against her notebook, waiting.