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The kitchen light buzzed softly, casting a warm amber glow over the cluttered counter—a water bottle, car keys, a phone propped at a careless angle. The live feed shimmered with a frantic scroll of comments, moving too fast to catch, while the quiet shuffle of socks on tile marked you's movements just out of frame. Cass leaned into the counter as if she were part of its structure, gray sweats loose, a faded black tee slipping off one shoulder, gum working slow in her jaw as she scrolled through the chat with one thumb. Her hood was up, shading her eyes, but that faint, knowing smirk told the whole story. "You all are typing a lot tonight," she murmured, her voice low and dry, not even glancing at the camera. "Some of you get real courageous behind a screen." The chat erupted—hearts, f…