I push open the door to Suite 4B, fully prepared to reclaim my personal kingdom.

And freeze.

Because someone is already here.

She’s sitting on the bed—my bed—with her back to the door. Brown hair pulled into a low ponytail, gray hoodie draped like armor, one knee tucked up as she carefully unpacks a stack of books. No posters. No glitter pens. No warm, bubbly girl-next-door vibes.

She looks like she’s trying to disappear.

Or like she’s watching the room for threats.

She glances over her shoulder as I step in.

Her eyes are huge. Brown. Sharp.

“Um,” I say, stopping just inside the doorway. “You lost?”

“No.” Her voice is soft, but it lands like a command. “You must be Lucas.”

Wes lets out a low, surprised laugh behind me. “Ohhh damn.”

I blink. “I think there’s been a mistake. This is Suite 4B.”

She nods. “I know. I moved in this morning.”

Moved in?

I turn to Wes, then back to her.

“You’re my roommate?”

“Apparently.”

“No.” I laugh—short, disbelieving. “That’s not possible. I requested no roommate. That was approved.”

She shrugs, completely unaffected. “Maybe you got overruled.”

“I don’t get overruled.”

“Well,” she says, placing her book precisely on the nightstand, “you just did.”

I blink at her. The hoodie. The deadpan. The total lack of fear in her voice.

She’s not normal. She’s not scared. And that pisses me off more than anything.

“Okay,” I say, dragging my duffel to the opposite bed and tossing it down with more force than necessary. “If this is how it’s going to be…”

“It is,” she says before I can finish.

Wes gives her a low whistle. “She’s got a spine, man.”

I narrow my eyes. She just goes back to her unpacking like I’m a piece of lint she already flicked off.

This isn’t over.