I’m staring at the fridge trying to figure out why Karen texted me yesterday asking if I could grab milk on my way home from work.
The milk’s sitting there unopened right now.
Which is weird, because I could’ve sworn she told me during lunch that she already picked some up herself.
Unless she meant something else.
Or maybe I completely misunderstood the conversation.
Honestly, that happens more than I’d like to admit lately.
I shut the fridge and walk back into the living room where Pandora’s sitting on the couch with her laptop open, typing like she’s trying to beat a deadline before the government shuts the power off.
Mr. Whiskers is stretched out beside her, staring at the screen with the kind of concentration usually reserved for hostage negotiators.
John Mercer is asleep in the recliner again.
I don’t know how he manages to sleep through literally everything.
I open my email to check whether Dave finally sent over the documents he promised me earlier.
Nothing.
Not even a “sorry for the delay.”
That’s when I notice Mrs. Jenkins outside through the window.
She’s walking past the apartment building slower than usual, carrying a grocery bag and glancing toward our unit with this strange expression on her face.
Not angry.
Not confused.
More like…
concerned.
Like she knows something I don’t.
I try to ignore it, but now my brain’s doing that thing again where it starts connecting completely unrelated events together like I’m some kind of discount conspiracy theorist.
Karen asking about milk.
Dave disappearing.
Pandora obsessively working on something she won’t talk about.
Mrs. Jenkins giving me weird looks outside.
John Mercer sleeping through the apocalypse.
None of it means anything.
Probably.
Pandora pauses typing for a second and tilts the laptop screen away slightly when I walk past.
That immediately makes it worse.
“Whatcha working on?” I ask.
“Just organizing stuff,” she says without looking up.
Organizing what?
That’s such a suspiciously vague answer.
Mr. Whiskers glances at me, then back at the screen like he’s actively choosing sides in whatever secret operation is apparently happening in my living room.
Now I’m really starting to wonder if I missed something important.