I carried Addison up the narrow staircase, her body warm and loose against my chest. She weighed less than I expected, all that attitude concentrated into a surprisingly compact package. Her head rested against my shoulder, purple hair tickling my neck, and she mumbled something unintelligible that might have been my name or a threat. With Addison, both options carried equal probability.
The guest room sat exactly where Aurora promised, second door on the left. I nudged it open with my shoulder and found a space that screamed Aurora's aesthetic sensibilities. White bedding with actual thread count, not the synthetic garbage they issued in the dorms. A real wooden nightstand instead of pressed particle board. Windows that faced the ocean instead of the parking lot. Even the guest accommodations in this place put my apartment to shame.
