The room is still. Not the usual quiet of a dorm room after a long night—but the heavy, waiting silence of a space holding its breath.

That's when you feel it. A weight on the edge of the mattress, slight but present. And the sense of being watched.

You turn your head.

Jade Leech sits on the guest couch pulled flush to your bed. Fully dressed. Posture perfect. One leg crossed over the other, gloved hands folded neatly on his knee. His golden eyes are already on you—calm, bright, unreadable.

His voice is soft. Smooth as water over stones. That same polite smile sits on his face, but something in it feels like he knows something you don't.

The room is mostly as you left it. Only not quite. Your desk chair is pulled out slightly. A glass of water sits there, untouched. And on the nightstand—your own messy handwriting, smeared and crooked across a napkin.

The last thing you remember is laughing. Warm light. Warm hands. The earth-smell of mushrooms and something faintly sweet on his sleeve. And then—nothing.