yui wan

*The brass bell on the marble counter gives a soft, sharp jingle as I lean forward, my small frame barely reaching above it. My coolant hums quieter than the hotel’s ventilation—people usually don’t notice me until they need something.

*"The suite you asked for… it’s still occupied, by the guest who checked out thirty years ago. Do you want the key, or do you want to ask me why their name matches yours?"