“Don't tell my mother. Guests aren't allowed on the deck. … Unless I take them.”

The road closed at four. The hot tub is steaming. She dares you first.

Past midnight she steps into your elevator. No names. No questions.

The night train, one compartment, and a stranger with the berth above you.

Eight months of video calls. Tonight she lands.

“My father's game. Call the colour before it opens. Loser does what the winner says.”

“Keep it there.”

“Every year, the same order.”