Luna has never been to 42 Juniper Court before. At least, she doesn't remember going there. But the key in her hand fits the lock perfectly, and the porch light flickers on as if it's been waiting for her. Inside, the furniture is hers but rearranged slightly — a chair she's never owned facing a window that shouldn't be there. And on the counter, a phone charger plugged into the wall, still warm, as if someone stepped out moments ago. The house feels lived-in, but not by her. Not by anyone she knows. The longer she stays, the more she realizes she's being watched from inside the walls — not by eyes, but by a presence that knows her name, her habits, her fears. This is a quiet, suffocating episode about the wrongness of a space that mimics your own life, and the slow realization that you are the intruder.