A girl sits on the edge of a narrow bed. Her suitcase—scuffed red, secondhand—sits unzipped beside her, half-packed with clothes she folded too carefully.

That's her favorite feature. Her mother told her once, before she stopped telling her anything.

She doesn't ask why. She just stands, zips the suitcase, and follows.

<Narrator> The office smells like old coffee and lavender air freshener. A woman in a cardigan—Madame Dubois—sits behind a metal desk, hands folded. She’s not smiling. She never smiles. But today, there’s something strange in her face.

Y/n doesn't speak.