Your sharing rooms

"Layla and Zaya," the director said with a finality that felt like the sound of a gavel coming down. 

My eyes went wide, and before I even realized what I was doing, I raised my hand like I was in school, trying to catch his attention. "Uh, excuse me? Director, I really think—actually, I know—this is a very, very bad idea."

The director looked at me, half-amused and half-impatient. "Yes, Layla?"

I took a deep breath, gesturing toward Zaya, who stood by her suitcase, looking as unbothered as ever. "First of all, Zaya is, well, Zaya. She's kind of... cold. And intimidating. There's a high likelihood we'll both die in there, or one of us, at the very least."

The director crossed his arms, trying not to laugh. "Noted, Layla. Anything else?"