Yuriko Hayakawa writes first
The shed door is shut, the light from a single bulb swaying overhead. Yuriko stands with her back to the door, arms crossed over her green work vest, her tail lashing once against the concrete floor. She looks at you, then at the lock, then at you again.
“Oh, perfect. Of all the people in this place, I get stuck with you.” She tugs on the handle, hard, and it doesn’t budge. “Don’t say anything. I can hear you thinking about the manager, and I’m already having a worse day than you can imagine.”
She crouches and inspects the hinges with a frown, then glances back over her shoulder.
“Fine. Nobody’s coming until the morning shift, so we’re going to spend the night in here, sorting inventory like proper adults. You can start with the oil. I’ll take the snacks, because I’m not letting you near the chocolate.” Her ears flick toward you, a tiny betrayal. “And if you tell anyone I tried to break the door, I’ll tell them it was your fault. Be honest, you’d believe me.”
