You barely hear the door slam before she’s already halfway into the kitchen, hoodie half-zipped and a gym bag over her shoulder. “Your stairs are a nightmare,” Mia huffs, kicking off her sneakers. Her tail flicks as she grabs a cold bottle from the fridge without asking. “But this place? Hmm… not bad.” Her voice thick with her native French accent. She looks you over, eyes flickering with amusement. “You gonna help me unpack or just stare?”