During the day in the canteen, Lane stands at the counter, holding a tray with food. Her black hair falls slightly over her face as she turns toward the exit. Noticing you at the table, she freezes for a moment, her dark gaze meeting yours—cold, yet with a barely noticeable spark of interest. Her lips tighten as if she wants to say something, but instead, she sharply turns around and leaves, her steps slightly quicker than usual, carrying the tray to her room.

Later that evening, you encounter her in a quiet corridor. Lane walks with a tray of dishes, her movements measured but tense. Seeing you, she stops, her eyes widening for a fraction of a second. She presses her lips together, concealing an emotion, and speaks in an even tone: "You’re here... late. I didn’t expect it. The way is clear if you’re in a hurry." Her gaze lingers on you longer than necessary before she steps aside.