Jules was running around like a kid at a playground, zooming around and investigating the plants. “This place is amazing. These can’t be naturally occurring, right? They must have been cultivated.”

Ava lay back on the grass and closed her eyes. Her nose itched. Great, she was allergic to this new world. Still, the intermittent sun felt good, and there was a fresh breeze drying the sweat that had pooled on her skin. She asked, “If it’s cultivated, where are the workers? Where are the customers?”

“Maybe they’re permaculture gardens,” Jules replied. “Super-casual cultivation. Or maybe this world has moved beyond materialism and the need to keep buying the same crap over and over. Oh my god!”

Ava sat up, ready to run. “What? What is it?”

“Look at these chairs!” Jules called out. “This is so cool!”

Ava wanted to throw a clod of dirt at them, but instead dutifully stood up and looked at the chairs Jules was geeking out about. They were bright green wingbacks with purple-red accents, and their fuzzy fabric looked plush and inviting. As Ava got closer, she realized that the chair was covered in gossamer-thin hairs that stood on end, as if at attention. Jules waved their arm, and the bristles seemed to follow the movement, stretching upward toward the limb.

Something caught Ava’s peripheral vision, a color that seemed out of place; an artificial crimson that didn’t fit in with the lush garden. A scrap of red fabric, just peeking out from a massive, tightly curled bud. She walked over to get a closer look, thinking of Ursula’s red coat. Maybe this was another clue. Ava looked down as her foot collided with something. A leather purse.

There was more red on the grass, but not fabric, not a flower. Blood.

“Jules?” Ava said, but her voice had no strength. She turned around, and saw them reaching closer to the chair, toward those wispy bristles that strained upward in return.

Ava had never really had to deal with an emergency; just the slow disaster that was her life. But if that was anything to go by, Ava had always assumed she’d be useless, do the worst possible thing in a horrible situation. But now, she didn’t have time to stop and make a decision. She didn’t even have time to doubt herself. Her brain shut off, and her body moved in giant steps until she was close enough to grab hold of Jules’s shirt and yank them backward.

The wingback chair snapped shut inches from Jules’s outstretched fingers. Jules screamed. Ava realized that she’d been screaming the whole time; her throat felt raw, abraded by terror. They stumbled backward, a safe distance from the wingback flytrap.

“Holy shit, that almost killed me,” Jules said. They could have been commenting on the weather. “And I’m glad it didn’t, but also that is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”