That night, Melanie dreamed she was two people. In one dream, she sat at her kitchen table, crying without tears, watching her hands turn translucent. In the other, she stood over a sleeping body—her own body—and felt the weight of a silver box in her pocket.
Melanie jumped. Her roommate stood in the kitchen doorway, barefoot, holding a mug of tea she hadn’t been drinking. Pandora had moved in three weeks ago, answering a sublet ad that Melanie didn’t remember posting. She was pretty in a sharp way—dark bob, gray eyes that never blinked enough—and she had a habit of knowing things before Melanie said them. ts pandora melanie
“The box. You named it.”