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.
She typed back: Where are you?
“Open it,” Pandora whispered.