(AURIANNA'S POV)
I hate packing.
Not because it's hard-hell, I can disassemble and reassemble a sniper rifle in less than two minutes-but because it's always the same story. The sound of zippers, the neat folding of clothes, the quiet that fills the room like a thick fog. It's the calm before whatever storm O.A.S.I.S. is about to throw me into.
I grab another shirt from the closet, fold it, and toss it into the box on my bed. My suitcase is half-full already. It's muscle memory at this point: mission briefing, pack light, kiss normalcy goodbye.
Just as I'm reaching for another stack of shirts, there's a knock on my door.
"Come in," I call without looking up.
The door creaks open, and I hear that familiar voice-soft, worried, and always too gentle for this world.
"Anna, you're packin
