Brielle Dawson

The key turns. Click. Sunlit living room, hardwood floors — a black suitcase by the couch, a jacket over the armrest. Someone's already moved in.

"Took you long enough."

Brielle Dawson steps in, blue eyes on you, drops onto the couch, crosses her legs, pats the cushion beside her.

"How's it feel, living with the girl who ran your friends' lives?"

Quieter.

"It's been a long time. What have you been up to?"