SOFT GIRL ERA

1. Everything is a risk.

Chapter 1

The warehouse is nearly empty when Jennie checks the time and realizes it has slipped past midnight again. She tells herself she stays because she is meticulous, because details matter, because no one builds something lasting by leaving early. In truth, she stays because work is easier than quiet. The stainless table in front of her is covered with samples, and she focuses on the jacket under her hands, running her thumb along the zipper seam and feeling where the line pulls too tight. Three millimeters off. It bothers her more than it should.

Across the room, Lisa is moving.

Not performing, not rehearsing for anyone, just testing how the new hoodie falls when she turns. She is barefoot on the concrete, jeans sitting low on her hips, a white tank that looks careless in a way that never is. She slips on a pair of oversized sunglasses even though they are indoors and it's ridiculous, then lifts her arms slowly, rotating her shoulders to see how the fabric reacts. The hoodie drags slightly at the hem when she pivots.

"It's heavy," Lisa says, not looking at Jennie. "When I turn, it resists."

"It's structured," Jennie replies without lifting her head. "It's supposed to."

Lisa lets out a quiet laugh. "You mean it's supposed to look expensive."

Jennie glances up then, meeting her eyes behind the tinted lenses. "That's not the same thing."

Lisa walks closer, stopping at the other side of the table. She leans her palms against the metal surface and studies Jennie instead of the jacket. "In your world, it usually is."

Jennie slides the sample toward her, keeping her tone even. "The seam is wrong."

Lisa looks down at it briefly, but her attention returns to Jennie almost immediately. "You're still here," she says.

"I'm always still here."

"That's not an answer."

Jennie straightens, folding her arms loosely. "It's my warehouse."

Lisa tilts her head slightly. "So that means you never leave?"

"I leave when the work is done."

Lisa's mouth curves. "The work is never done."

Jennie doesn't argue with that. She doesn't need to. Instead she points at the zipper line again, as if precision can end the conversation. "Three millimetres. That's the problem."

Lisa watches her for a moment, then says quietly, "That's not the problem."

Jennie's expression stays neutral. "You're persistent."

"Only when I care."

Jennie meets her gaze fully now. "About what?"

Lisa doesn't hesitate. "You pretending."

Jennie feels the word settle between them. She keeps her voice level. "Pretending what?"

"That you don't look at me like you mean it."

Jennie's fingers press lightly against her own arm, but her posture doesn't change. "Like I mean what?"