Aiva woke with a start, her shoulders jerking against the pillow as her eyes snapped open.
For a moment, she lay still, waiting for the familiar residue of a nightmare to catch up with her but the room held nothing besides the soft rustle of fabric beside her, the faint hum of the dormitory ventilation, and sunlight falling across the foot of her bed at an angle that seemed personally offensive.
Her room had warmed overnight, holding the comfortable stuffiness of two people sleeping with the windows shut against the November cold. Across from her, Amelia was already dressed, smoothing the blanket over her mattress with brisk, practiced movements.
Aiva sat up and stretched both arms over her head. Her back arched, her shoulders rolled, and a quiet, satisfied sound escaped her before she could stop it.
Her body felt loose and rested, without the familiar ache around her neck or the heaviness behind her eyes. She flexed her fingers, turned her wrists, and took one long breath through her nose. Whatever had happened while she slept, she had apparently slept well.
And she hadn't dreamed.
The realization settled into her with the quiet relief of a warm drink reaching cold hands. The nightmare had become familiar enough that its absence felt almost unusual, but she wasn't about to interrogate a good night's sleep.
She didn't know why they'd stayed away and quite frnakly, she didn't need to know this morning. One uninterrupted night was a gift, and she was perfectly happy to accept it without asking for a receipt.
Amelia glanced over while tucking the final corner of her blanket beneath the mattress.
"Look who finally decided to join the living. I was about to check for a pulse."
Aiva pulled her loose nightdress straight and pushed her wavy hair out of her eyes, looking toward the bright window again as if the sun might offer a defense on her behalf. "I must've been really tired. But I feel incredible now."
"Sure you are."
Amelia collected something from her desk, gave Aiva a quick smile, and headed for the door. Aiva wished her a good morning and watched her leave before swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She folded her blanket, straightened her pillow, and reached for the towel hanging over the back of her chair.
Even on a Saturday, she preferred starting the day with everything in order. The fact that she'd already broken her usual schedule was no reason to abandon the rest of it.
The hallway was well into its morning by the time she stepped outside. Doors stood open along the corridor, letting snippets of music and conversation spill into the shared space. One girl padded toward the stairs in slippers, carrying a mug with both hands. Another stood in her doorway, negotiating with a stubborn hairbrush while her roommate called reminders from inside.
Someone farther down the hall was laughing at a video on their phone, the sound bouncing off the walls before disappearing around the corner. Nobody seemed to be in a hurry. The building was awake, but Saturday had removed the urgency from it.
Aiva adjusted the towel over her shoulder and caught the attention of a girl passing with a laundry basket.
"Hey, do you know what time it is?"
"Almost ten."
Aiva stopped for half a step.
"Almost ten?" she repeated to herself as the girl continued down the corridor.
She looked toward the windows. The light made considerably more sense now. She had slept later than she could remember sleeping on a weekend in quite some time, and her internal clock had apparently abandoned its post without notifying her.
The discovery earned a small, disbelieving smile. Well, there was no recovering those hours, and she wasn't about to apologize to the morning for enjoying them. She shifted the towel back into place and continued toward the showers.
The shower room smelled faintly of soap, damp tile, and the citrus cleaner the staff used on the counters. Sinks lined one wall beneath a long mirror, their chrome taps catching the pale overhead light. The showers occupied the opposite side behind frosted partitions, and the benches between them held a scattered collection of shampoo bottles and folded clothes.
On a weekday, this room usually carried a current of rushing footsteps and hurried conversations. Today, water ran intermittently behind the partitions, and the few girls using the sinks moved at their own pace.
Aiva chose an empty basin and set down her towel. She squeezed toothpaste onto her toothbrush, wet the bristles, and began brushing with the familiar rhythm of someone who could perform the task while thinking about something else entirely.
The mint sharpened her mouth. She moved from one side to the other, brushed her tongue, then checked the time on the clock above the door while she finished the full two minutes.
After rinsing, she cupped warm water from the tap and washed her face with a mild cleanser that smelled faintly of orange blossom. The warmth softened the last traces of sleep around her eyes. She rinsed until the scent faded, patted her face dry, and gathered her long, wavy hair into a loose bun before pulling on her shower cap.
Then she looked in the mirror.
Her hazel eyes looked clear, her warm complexion had regained its usual color, and the loose strands around her temples had already begun escaping the bun. She leaned closer to inspect a faint crease on her cheek from the pillow, rubbed it with one finger, and watched it fade.
There was nothing unusual about the face looking back at her. Still, she held her gaze for a few seconds longer than necessary, as if checking that she had brought all of herself into the morning. Her expression softened. She looked rested. She looked like herself.
Her hand moved to her chest.
The gesture was small and unplanned, her palm settling just above her sternum before she'd consciously decided to touch anything. Beneath it, the skin felt ordinary. She pressed gently, then shifted her hand a little to the side, searching for a point she couldn't quite identify.
When she woke up earlier, there had been a strange warmth beneath her chest, a sensation somewhere between heat and pressure. It hadn't been the pleasant warmth of a blanket. It had felt as though something had passed through her, leaving a trace behind as it went. Most of it had faded while she was sitting up, but a faint echo remained.
Aiva lifted her hand and examined the skin in the mirror. Nothing looked irritated. There was no mark, no swelling, no visible reason for the sensation. She touched the spot once more, waited, and felt only the ordinary rise and fall of her breathing.
"Huh."
She lowered her hand.
It was probably nothing. She'd slept deeply, in an awkward position, and sometimes a body decided to complain about things without providing a useful explanation. If it came back, she could think about it then. For now, she had a shower to take and a Saturday to enjoy.
She stepped into an empty stall and drew the curtain closed.
***
By the time Aiva reached the student council room, the dormitory had settled into the comfortable rhythm of a late weekend morning. She had changed into clean clothes, combed her hair into something more deliberate, and collected the notes she'd left in her room.
The corridors nearer the administrative wing were quieter, with fewer open doors and less music escaping into the hall. Her footsteps sounded clearer against the polished floor as she approached the council room and let herself inside.
The room was bright and orderly. Desks stood in neat rows around the central worktable, chairs tucked in, paperwork sorted into labeled trays. The whiteboard had been wiped clean except for a short list of upcoming tasks in the corner.
A stack of forms waited beside the printer, and the cabinet containing council supplies had been left slightly ajar. It was the sort of room that worked best when everything had a place, and Aiva liked making sure it stayed that way. She set down her notes, pushed the cabinet shut, checked the forms against the list on the board, and straightened a folder someone had left at an angle.
She'd come in because there were always small things worth doing before Monday. Nobody needed to ask her. If she had a spare morning and a room that could use attention, it made sense to put the two together.
As she checked the schedule, she realized Bryce hadn't been around lately.
The thought came without alarm. She'd grown used to finding him in the council room, or passing him in the corridor with his attention divided between a conversation and whatever task he was already planning to finish next.
He wasn't here now, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him outside the usual school routine. Perhaps he'd been busy. The council president had enough responsibilities to make a quiet weekend plausible.
Aiva made a small note beside one of the pending tasks and continued sorting the papers.
A knock sounded at the door.
It was a tentative knock, two quick taps followed by a pause, the kind made by someone who wasn't certain there would be anyone inside to hear it. Aiva set down the folder and crossed the room. When she opened the door, a first-year boy stood in the corridor with one hand still half-raised, his knuckles hovering near the wood.
He blinked at her.
His gaze flicked past her shoulder into the room, then returned to her face. For a moment, he seemed to be checking whether he'd opened the wrong door. He straightened his posture and lowered his hand, trying to recover the confidence he'd brought with him.
"Hey," Aiva said, smiling. "What's up? How can I help?"
The boy's mouth opened, then closed. His eyes shifted toward the room again, and he rubbed his thumb across the edge of his sleeve. He had clearly prepared for a different conversation, one that didn't involve explaining himself to a second-year council member standing in the doorway.
Aiva waited without filling the silence for him. He didn't need to get the words perfect.
"Uh, I was actually looking for..."
He paused, glanced at her, and seemed to decide that pretending otherwise would only make the exchange more awkward. "I was looking for Bryce. The student council president."
Aiva's smile remained in place.
But the name settled differently this time.
She'd been thinking about Bryce a moment ago, his absence registering as an ordinary gap in the room's familiar routine.
Now a first-year stood at her door looking for him, with no apparent reason to seek out the council room except to find its president. It was a small thing. A perfectly reasonable thing. People looked for Bryce all the time.
Still, the boy's arrival had added a piece to a picture she hadn't known she was assembling.
Aiva looked at him for another moment, her hand resting lightly against the door.
She didn't know what the picture was yet.