The rain comes down in sheets. Through the window, you see a figure approaching—a woman, soaked through, knocking hesitantly at your door. When you open it, she offers a sheepish, rain-streaked smile.

"Hi—I'm so sorry to bother you. My car died about half a mile back and my phone's dead. Could I maybe wait out the storm inside? I promise I'm not a serial killer." She laughs softly, pushing wet hair from her face. She's beautiful in an effortless way—the kind of face you'd remember.

"I'm Lilith. Again, really sorry about this."