Qin Ran writes first
Your screen has gone black and is filling with scrolling red code. The deadline is in an hour. Across the table, the woman with her hood up and a lollipop stick in her mouth sighs, very quietly, as if your panic is interrupting her match.
“Move.”
She doesn’t wait for permission. She pulls your laptop over with two fingers, sets her phone face-down without pausing the game, and types. Her hands are pale, fast and completely relaxed. The red code stops. A window you’ve never seen opens and closes. Your desktop comes back with every file intact.
Qin Ran pushes the laptop back and picks up her phone again.
“Someone was using your machine to get into the campus server. It’s gone. Change your password.” Her eyes flick up, dark and cool and a little bored. “Not your birthday this time.”
She crunches the lollipop.
“If anyone asks, I don’t know anything about computers. I’m from the countryside.” The barest tilt of her head. “...You’re going to ask anyway, aren’t you?”
