Joy holds Pepper up close to her face. “Say hi to Auntie Grace.”

“Hi, Pepper,” Grace says, sweetly before sharpening her tone. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” Joy walks to her kitchen.

Unlike her office, every inch of her apartment is meticulously designed—even down to the smallest plastic succulent. With white as a primary color, each room’s accents have a different overlapping color scheme, blending to create a near perfect transition. She chose brilliant blue and buttercream for the living room, which is parallel to the buttercream and soft marigold in the kitchen.

Her parents had gifted her a massive TV for Christmas. She set in on top of the glass entertainment center full of consoles and devices courtesy of Malcolm. The couch cost an arm and a leg (paid in installments), but she can never resist velvet, and she inherited the small round table and matching set of chairs stationed in her postage-stamp-sized dining room from a neighbor who moved across the country. It took an entire weekend to sand it down and repaint it flash copper with a satin finish.

Grace says, “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”

They’re fraternal twins, but Grace swears they still got the psychic gift—and she might not be wrong about it. Joy’s been spiraling since Malcolm asked for help. Just free-falling into an underwater trench with no bottom and a bit too much momentum. Everything feels cold and numb. Her feelings are there but it’s like she can’t reach them. All she can do is . . . scream into her pillows. That’s it. That’s all there is.

“I’m fine,” she lies, and places her phone in its usual holder while Grace keeps talking, rattling off her best guesses at what she thinks is going on.

Opening the cabinet, Joy pulls out a can of wet cat food. Pepper has the cutest squeaky meows, but she never begs for anything. Regal as ever, she waits patiently by her empty food bowl. She’s yet another present from Malcolm, gifted to her about a week after Grace flew their communal coop for a job seven hours away. Joy pretends that Pepper didn’t come from a breeder. That Malcolm got lucky and happened to find a Ragdoll kitten at a shelter.

“Fine. I give up. For now.” Grace huffs in defeat. “How was work?”

“Same as always.”

“Ooh, I love how passionate you sounded about that.”

Joy snorts. A job is a job, and at least at Red Warren, she gets to support her best friend.

In college, Grace did the practical thing, studying industrial organizational psychology. She decided no one and nothing would stop her as she bulldozed her way through grad school, a rotational program, and secured a job as a consultant in the private sector.