The hallway whispered with old lavender and lemon oil. Every step forward made the silence bend around her, folding her into the bones of a house that felt too quiet for its size.
The woman who led the way didn't say much—only offered a glance now and then, as if gauging whether her guest would make it past the first night. They moved past closed doors, each one indistinguishable from the last until the fourth, where she finally stopped.
"This is it."
A soft click of the door, then space opened up beyond: two beds, a window cracked open, sun-slivered curtains moving gently in the breeze. Clean, cream-colored walls, scuffed slightly near the baseboards. Lived in. Someone had already claimed one of the beds—neatly folded clothes, a jar of floral-scented hair oil, and a novel with frayed corners.
"She'll be back soon," the woman said. "Unpack. Tomorrow's early. Five sharp."
A nod was all she gave in return.
The woman lingered. "Don't let the others get under your skin. Some have... adjusted. Others bite before they're barked at."
And then she was gone.
Alone now, the weight of the house settled in. Heavy. Watchful. Every wall felt too perfect. Like someone had sanded down the truth.
---
The hush didn't last long.
Voices trickled in from the hallway, rising into footsteps and laughter. The door burst open before she could stand—three girls stepping into the room like it belonged to them.
Only one entered fully. Tall, poised, expensive hair. She went straight for the mirror and didn't acknowledge anyone until she finished adjusting a glossy curl.
"Oh," she said, eyes flicking across the room's newest occupant. "They gave me the pretty one."
Another leaned in from the doorway, petite with daggered eyeliner. "Doesn't last. Everyone looks soft before the house carves them into shape."
The third only smirked, gaze dragging slow and deliberate.
No one offered a name. No one asked hers.
They lingered like cigarette smoke—pointless but stubborn. And just before leaving, the tall one turned again, voice sugar-slick but soured. "Don't ask too many questions. People notice."
Then the door closed.
The silence that followed was sharper than before. Not just quiet. Cut glass.
---
The sun dipped low before the door opened again—this time with ease, not intrusion.
The girl who stepped in was everything the others weren't. Rich, dark skin, hair wrapped in violet silk, eyes alive with curiosity and calm. Her gaze landed on the newcomer with interest, not judgment.
"You must be my new bunkmate," she said, kicking off her sneakers with one foot. "Don't worry, I don't snore. Much."
A soft laugh escaped, the first real one of the day.
The girl crossed the room and held out a hand. "Ama. I've claimed this bed. But I share snacks, chargers, and good gossip if you ask nicely."
A handshake sealed the peace treaty.
"Things weird so far?" Ama asked, flopping onto her sheets.
A shrug. "Let's say... welcoming isn't in fashion around here."
Ama snorted. "That'd be Celine and her hyenas. Ignore 'em. They want attention more than respect. You stay chill, do the work, keep your mouth shut and your head high. That's the sweet spot."
"How long you been here?"
"Three weeks. Long enough to know where not to step, and who not to smile at." She stretched. "Most of the girls want one of three things—money, a favor, or to get noticed. Guess which one's the most dangerous."
"Not money?"
Ama gave a half-smile. "This house notices back."
A shiver, barely there, crawled up the spine.
"Look, some days it's easy. Cleaning, errands, chores. Other days? You feel like a guest in a haunted museum. Just don't ask about the man who owns it. They don't say his name here. Like he's a ghost, or a god. Or both."
"So... avoid him?"
Ama tilted her head. "Some want to. Some don't. Me? I get in, get paid, get out. No broken pieces. No shadows stuck to my feet."
Silence fell between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was just… wide. Like the house had ears.
Down the hall, footsteps passed slowly. One pair. No voice. No rush.
Then quiet again.
---