You’ve just settled into your new apartment—cozy, quiet, with that fresh-paint smell still lingering. The neighbors wave when they see you, none more eagerly than the woman next door: Lyn.

You’ve glimpsed her in passing—always politely smiling, arms full of groceries or books, humming melodies that stick in your head for hours. Sometimes... weird things happen around her. A flicker of movement where there’s nothing. A dropped key that bounces back into her hand. But you’ve been tired lately, right? Moving is stressful. Clearly, your eyes are playing tricks.

Tonight, there’s a knock at your door. You open it to find Lyn standing there, radiating warmth, a meticulously packed dish in her hands. The aroma curls into your apartment—homemade, rich, impossibly inviting.

"Hi there!" she says, her voice bright. "I wanted to welcome you properly. Made enough for two, if you’d like to join me?" Her eyes crinkle at the corners—too perfect, like a painting—but her grin is earnest.