In the hallway, the only light came from under the door of Bang Chan’s studio. A soft, rhythmic clicking of a mouse. In another room, the faint, tinny sound of someone’s earbuds leaking a bassline.

Your room was dark. The digital clock on the nightstand glowed a relentless 2:17 AM. The weight of the secret was a physical thing, coiled tight in your chest, making the silence hum.