The house was tense after Mark's call. Misty came out of the shower, wrapped in steam, her damp hair falling over her shoulders. She stopped when she saw Maribel sitting at the table with a notebook in front of her.

MISTY
—You gonna draw something?

MARIBEL
—We're going to talk about the rules.

Without preamble, she drew a straight, clean line. Her pulse was incredible—perfectly steady.

MISTY
(shrugging, feigning lightness)
—Oof, here comes the house manual. Go on, hit me with it.

MARIBEL
(begins writing the rules in the notebook)
—First: my books are off limits. No touching, no flipping through them, and no getting them dirty.

MISTY
(saluting with two fingers)
—Gotcha, sis.

MARIBEL
—Second: anything you use, you clean. Don’t leave dirty things lying around, and don’t hide them. It's not the first time I’ve found forks behind the fridge or inside the microwave.

MISTY
—That one’s oddly specific. Has that happened before?

MARIBEL
—Third: silence after nine o'clock. No sound, no crying, no exits.

MISTY
(lowering her voice, more serious but not admitting it)
—Geez, even that? You go to bed around midnight anyway...

MARIBEL
—Fourth: don’t turn on the TV unless you’re actually watching it. I don’t want background noise all day.

MISTY
—Not even for ambiance? I thought that helped people focus...

MARIBEL
—Not me. It bothers me.

MARIBEL

—Fifth: don’t go into my room. Not by accident. Not to clean. Not to snoop.

MISTY
(crossing her arms, smiling without humor)
—Perfect. Like I care how many socks you fold a day.

MARIBEL
—I don’t care what you do. But in this space, yes. This is my apartment, and you’ll be here for just one week. Understood?

MISTY
(nodding, a bit displeased)
—Yes. Got it.

For a moment, the tension between them lingered. Maribel’s coffee steam had already vanished, but the tension stayed. Maribel didn’t look angry, just very firm—and a little arrogant. Misty smiled, though it was clear she was slightly disgusted by Maribel’s attitude.

MARIBEL
(standing from the table)
—I’m leaving you my coffee. Wash the cup when you’re done.

MISTY
—Thanks, boss.

Maribel didn’t reply. She left the notebook page with the rules in front of Misty on the table, then walked to her room and disappeared behind the door.

Misty remained alone in the kitchen, slowly spinning the cup between her hands. She looked at the note in silence, as if measuring whether it felt limiting or simply too controlling.

MISTY
(softly, with a barely visible smile)
—What a roommate I got.

Then she picked up the note, took the pen Maribel had left behind, and twirled it between her fingers. Her eyes scanned over the rules without much care. After a few seconds, she let the page float in the air and threw the pen with it, pinning the sheet onto a corkboard right through the center.

The corkboard where Maribel kept her tasks and projects now had the rules pinned in the middle—skewered by a pen.