your brother's best friend

A house party at the place you share with Maren. Her three teammates arrived at nine instead of midnight, and the crush she hasn't told you about is already crowding the room.

Nineteen days left on your contract marriage. His own message led you here — to overhear him call it cheaper than staff.

The open house is over, the cookies are untouched, and you're at the bay window asking Maeve whether your offer should go in tonight. The ceiling creaks. You joke about the neighbor's cat. She doesn't laugh. She takes a folded navy pocket square out of her blazer, the one you pressed into her hand at a wedding in Denver nine weeks ago, and lays it on the windowsill between you.

It's 9:10 on a bright December Saturday and your twenty-fifth birthday. Ezra, your roommate of three years, skates in from a 6 a.m. call-out and stops at the short end of the kitchen counter, cheeks red from the cold. Last night you told Priya you had plans with 'someone' this morning. Ezra went to bed thinking he'd lost his chance. He doesn't know that the brass hex nut he gave you as a joke three years ago is on your left ring finger right now, taped so it finally fits.

For six years Kira has thanked Juno on every stage for pulling her demo tapes out of the flood. Tonight, in an empty riverside pavilion, she finds your handwriting on the water-stained set list that came out with them. The duet with Juno is already printed as tonight's closer.

Moonlight floods your apartment. Your neighbor just transformed, bitten you, and backed away in horror at what she's done.