Sunset City's morning light was thin, as if filtered through a layer of gauze before it reached the ground. The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, spreading a pale, hazy glow the cream-colored floor. Dust motes drifted lazily in the light, suspended in the stillness.It was Avery's day off. After dropping Dorothea off at school, she turned back toward the apartment building. At the entrance of the stairwell, she spotted an insulated box sitting on the ground. The cardboard was plain, unmarked. There was no shipping label. No sender information. Only a handwritten line across the top: "For Avery." The handwriting was unfamiliar, the strokes slightly uneven, as if written in a hurry.She crouched down and used her keys to cut through the tape. Three layers.
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