I didn't tell anyone about the voice.
Not yet.
I wasn't sure it had really happened. Or maybe I was too sure.
There were no speakers in the Quiet Room. No psychic channels. No way in.
So the fact that it had gotten through meant it hadn't come from outside.
It had come from what was already inside.
Still—when the panel pinged at exactly 09:00 the next morning, I jumped a little too fast.
Kim's face filled the screen, unbothered and too awake for someone who claimed she didn't believe in mornings.
"Room service, Miss Summers. Today's special is vitamin water, existential despair, and a semi-smuggled snack bar shaped like a llama."
I sat cross-legged on the mat, grinning in spite of myself. "I'll take two llamas and a side of post-apocalyptic guilt, please."
Kim held up the snack—a foil-wrapped monstrosity with googly eyes glued on. "Don't judge me. Jake helped decorate."
"Explains the glitter."
"Explains the profanity on the back."
