She didn’t used to be like this. Or she didn’t used to be this bad, anyway. Part of it could be traced back to COVID, sure. Part of it could also be linked to her lost daughter and failed marriage, of course. Her obsession with control and safeguarding. She wasn’t in denial or unaware that many considered her behavior freakish. She just didn’t see what the problem was. She was surviving, wasn’t she? She was great at her job, wasn’t she? She had no tolerance for her mother constantly calling to say she was worried about her. Or a colleague at work offering to introduce her to a therapist or sign her up for a dating app. Nora will admit she is sometimes so obsessed with detail that she tunes out the noise of the world and fails to care what other people think. But who gives a damn if she’s alone? That’s what people always seemed to target—her aloneness. They seemed to think she needed to date, needed to join a hiking club, needed to drink chardonnay with pals after work at happy hour at Applebee’s. Or whatever. Alone didn’t mean she was unhappy. Alone meant she didn’t need to compromise herself. Chasing somebody else’s version of happiness was the last thing she wanted, and vulnerable was the last thing anyone could call her. Nobody had ever worried about diagnosing Sherlock Holmes, so they should leave her the hell alone too.

In the garage, her Prius awaits her. She would own a Tesla if she could afford it, but the low emissions of this omnimetal hybrid will have to do. The car is black, like her hair, like her mask, like her pantsuit, like her. She prefers tidy simplicity. That’s why she styles her hair short and reads mystery novels exclusively and eats the same seven meals for dinner throughout the week. Fashion especially annoys her. Worrying over what to wear is such a waste of time and mental energy. Her partner, Chives, once said that there was something funereal about her taste in clothes, and she supposes that’s fitting, given the job.

The night is overcast, and the lights of Seattle reflect off the furrowed bellies of the clouds when she drives to West Seattle. The radio remains silent. She finds the news depressing and music distracting. A few scattered raindrops splat on the windshield. Once, this wouldn’t have seemed notable in Seattle, but they’ve been experiencing a severe drought.