It was a Tuesday in late October, just past midnight, when Luna found herself standing in the driveway of a house she had never seen before. The key in her hand fit the lock perfectly, and inside, everything was almost right—the same sofa she owned, the same mug in the sink, a book she'd been reading left open on the coffee table. But the photographs on the mantle showed her face beside strangers, and the calendar on the wall marked dates that hadn't happened yet. As she searched for a way out, she realized the front door no longer opened to the street she'd come from. A quiet, creeping story about parallel lives and the thinness of suburban nights.