"You look like a raccoon that got into a stash of espresso," I told my reflection. "Fix it. We have readers to impress, apparently."

  I focused for a microsecond. The dark circles faded. The hair settled into a messy but charming arrangement. My skin glowed with the vitality of a man who definitely didn't just dream about the apocalypse.

  "Vanity is a sin, but looking like a zombie is a crime against humanity."

  I walked downstairs, my bare feet silent on the wood. The house was quiet. Too quiet.

  "Breakfast," I mused, entering the kitchen. "The most important meal of the day, mostly because it justifies drinking coffee. What are we feeling today? Pancakes? Too cliché. Oatmeal? I'm not eighty. Poha? Maybe. It's light, it's yellow, it involves peanuts. Who doesn't like peanuts?"

  I opened the fridge, staring blankly at the contents.

  That's when I felt it.

  It started as a hum in the base of my skull. The air pressure in the kitchen dropped imperceptibly.

  She's coming.

  It was her specific frequency. It felt like walking past a high voltage fence.

  "Wanda," I whispered.

  Panic. Immediate panic.

  "She's here. Why is she here? It's..." I checked the microwave clock. "7:15 AM. Who visits people at 7:15 AM? Is she a morning person? Oh god, is she one of those people who goes for runs? If she tries to make me jog, I'm ending this chapter early."

  I looked down at myself. Sweatpants and a t shirt that said 'I'm not arguing, I'm just explaining why I'm right.'

  "Okay, breathe. Act natural. You're just a guy. A doctor. A neighbor. You are definitely not freaking out because the love of your old world and the most dangerous being in existence is walking up your driveway."

  I grabbed a carton of milk and set it on the counter, just to look busy.

  Ding dong.

  The doorbell rang.

  "Showtime," I told the toaster.

  I walked to the front door. I paused, took a deep breath, composed my features into a mask of pleasant surprise and opened it.

  "Good morning, Arthur, if this is about the trash cans again, I swear I… "

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  I stopped. I let my jaw drop exactly half an inch.

  Wanda stood on the porch.

  She looked... tired. Beautiful, obviously… she could look beautiful wearing a garbage bag in a hurricane… but there was a tension in her shoulders. She was wearing a trench coat over casual clothes and her hair was pulled back in a messy bun.

  She was holding the glass Tupperware container like it was a sacred offering.

  "Wanda?" I said, blinking. "Hi."

  "Aryan," she said. Her voice was a little raspy. "I... I hope I am not disturbing you. It is early."

  "No! No, not at all," I lied, leaning against the doorframe. I cast a quick glance toward the "audience" over her shoulder. Watch this. The classic 'Casual Neighbor' routine. "I was just... contemplating the existential dread of morning dairy. You know how it is. What a pleasure to see a friendly face before the caffeine kicks in."

  She managed a small smile. She held out the container.

  "I brought this back," she said. "I did not want to keep your... good glass."

  "You came all the way over here at 7 AM to return a Tupperware?" I teased gently, reaching out to take it. Our fingers brushed. The static shock was there. "You must really care about plasticware etiquette."

  "I..." she hesitated. She looked past me, into the warm hallway of my house, then back at me. Her eyes were swimming with something I couldn't quite place. Guilt? desperation?

  "Would you like to come in?" I offered, stepping back. "I was just about to make coffee. And maybe Poha, if I can find the motivation. I could use a sous chef."

  "I..." She looked down at her shoes. "I cannot stay for breakfast."

  " Oh," I said, trying not to let the disappointment show on my face. "Right. Busy schedule. World to save, or just... sleeping in?"

  "No," she said softly. She looked up and her eyes were wet. "My motel... it burned down."

  I froze. The container in my hand slipped an inch before I caught it.

  "What?" I asked, dropping the humor instantly. "What do you mean, burned down?"

  "There was a fire," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "This morning. An electrical fault, they said. The alarms went off. We had to evacuate."

  "Holy shit," I breathed. I stepped forward, scanning her face, looking for soot, for burns, for injury. My heart lurched. "Are you okay? Were you hurt? Did you inhale smoke?"

  The concern was real. The thought of her in a fire… even if she was the Scarlet Witch… terrified me.

  "I am fine," she assured me quickly, seeing the panic in my eyes. "I... I woke up early. I was already packing. I got out before it spread to my room. But the building... it is not habitable. They closed it."

  "Thank you, God," I muttered, exhaling a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Okay. That's... that's terrible, but I'm glad you're safe."

  "I put my luggage in the car," she continued, gesturing vaguely toward the street where her Buick was parked, loaded to the brim. "I just... I did not know where else to go. I thought I would return your dish before I... started looking."

  "Looking?"

  "For a place," she said. "To rent. I need to find a new room. But Westview is... small. I checked online and everything seems to be booked or not available."

  I stared at her.

  My brain was doing backflips.

  The motel burned down? Talk about bad luck. Or...

  I looked at her innocent eyes and then looked directly at the "reader." An electrical fire? In the only motel in town? Right when she needs a place to stay? You're eating this up, aren't you? The plot convenience is so thick I could spread it on toast.

  "You need a place to stay," I repeated slowly.

  "Yes," she said. "Just for a while. Until I figure things out."

  I leaned against the doorframe, my mind racing. This was it. This was the opportunity. But I couldn't seem too eager. I couldn't be the creepy guy who says, 'Yes! Live with me! I have a shrine!' (I didn't have a shrine, but you get the point).

  "Well," I said, rubbing my chin thoughtfully. "That is a dilemma. The B&B on Elm is always full and the other motel is... well, let's just say the roaches pay rent there."

  Wanda nodded miserably. "I see."