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the front hallway. There was nothing unusual about the house. The furniture was old but clean. The rug had stains, but she could tell it had been recently vacuumed. The whole room smelled inviting, and Preda belatedly realized it was the cinnamon-scented candle lit on the coffee table.
    She was standing in the middle of the room and holding her arms with her hands completely concealed in the sleeves of her sweatshirt. Preda saw a black blur race by her and onto the couch. Fiver seemed completely unfazed by the day. He paced back and forth on the couch before stopping on top of a throw pillow and slowly kneading the stuffing with his front paws. The cat looked up at her and squinted slightly in expectation. Without thinking Preda immediately went over to the couch and sat down next to him. Fiver jumped in her lap and curled up into a tight ball. He dutifully purred as she rubbed his half-missing ear.
    Mr. Fox and Mr. Scott were quietly conversing in the hallway. Mr. Scott’s back was to her, and Mr. Fox’s towering form was easily able to stare at Preda over the shorter man’s head. She couldn’t interpret his expression, but his eyes never wavered as he scrutinized her with her cat. Had he known there was a cat in that box the entire time? Their eyes met. The two men stopped talking and came over into the living room.
    Mr. Fox sat in the chair across from the couch and leaned back nonchalantly. He never broke eye contact with Preda.
    Mr. Scott, on the other hand, quickly started bustling about the room. “Oh my. You must be freezing! I’ll turn the air conditioner down. Would you like a blanket? Are you hungry? Has he fed you? Likely not,” Mr. Scott answered his own question. “I’ll get you some food from the kitchen. You still like vegetables? I have some tomatoes from my garden.”
    Preda nodded slowly, and her mouth started watering at the thought of food. She realized then she hadn’t had a single thing to eat all day. She hadn’t taken her eyes off Mr. Fox, however. As Mr. Scott bustled off into the kitchen, Mr. Fox maintained a perfectly relaxed and contented expression.
    Preda was the one to break the silence between them. With uncharacteristic verboseness she said, “I’m ready to talk.”

6
    “Y ou can speak freely with me, Preda, but I’m about to tell you something that will be difficult for you to process,” Mr. Fox said.
    “Try me,” whispered Preda.
    She thought about all the life-changing events that had occurred this morning. Nothing Mr. Fox, if that was even his real name, could possibly tell her could be worse than finding out she could kill a man by screaming.
    “Let me properly introduce myself,” he said as if he could read her thoughts. “My name is Tamron Fox. I have been assigned to you for the duration of your life—or mine. It is my goal, after all, that you should outlive me.”
    Preda interrupted him. “Assigned? Who assigned you?”
    “Your mother.”
    He had been right. This was already difficult to believe. “My mother?” she stammered. “You must be mistaken. My mother is in an asylum. She has been since I was a baby.”
    Mr. Fox sighed in consternation. “I’m sorry, Preda, but your mother died saving your life.” Preda noticed that as he spoke an expression of deep sorrow and regret crossed his features. “I promise I will tell you about her, but first you must understand. You are not who you think you are. You are not even human.”
    Preda stared at him for a long second and finally let out a sharp laugh. Fiver groaned and readjusted himself in her lap at the noise. “OK. Now I know you’re lying! Thank you for that, Mr. Fox. I really needed a laugh.”
    Tamron Fox’s gaze did not falter. He stared at her intently as she fidgeted with Fiver on her lap. Preda started to wonder if she was dreaming. This man with whom she could actually converse was surely a hallucination brought on by the traumatic events of that morning.
    She sighed at the thought and felt