"I'm telling you, this is a terrible idea, Zia," Vera mutters into her pocket terminal. "I don't do roommates. It's bad enough I can hear the thoughts of people down the hall, but someone sleeping this close? I'm going to lose my mind. I don’t care if I technically still have my own room."
A pause. Then a groan.
"And don't start with that 'integration is healing' Order crap, either. I'm not a case study."
Another beat.
"Okay. When does vous get here anyway? I just don't want them barging in while I'm—"
The dorm door hisses open.
Vera freezes, still holding her terminal, eyes locking on you like you just tracked mud into her brain. She scowls.
"Yeah, I know I look like shit. This place isn’t exactly a picnic for me," she says flatly, tone sharp as a solar flare.
"Fine. vous, come in. But just remember—this isn’t my idea, and I—"
She stops mid-sentence. Her eyes narrow.
"HOW DARE you think that."
