Dana Lustery [repack] -

Dana Lustery is 47, a senior data harmonization consultant for a global logistics firm. She lives in a minimalist, high-floor condo in a city that experiences all four seasons with punctual regularity. Dana is not cold, but she is exacting . Her friends (she has three, whom she sees on a quarterly rotation) describe her as “reliably steady.” Her colleagues describe her as “efficient to the point of invisibility.” She describes herself as “content.”

The Gravity of Oranges

The next morning, a fresh orange sits in the exact same spot.

On the gray quartz countertop, next to the knife block, sits a single, perfect, bright orange navel orange.

She did not buy an orange. She does not like oranges—they are messy, unpredictable in their sweetness, and their peels leave a sticky residue. Her grocery delivery is scheduled for Thursdays. The building’s key fob log shows no one entered her unit. The security camera in the hallway shows no delivery person.

And somewhere, in the space between the fruit and the peel, Dana Lustery finally lets herself be surprised.

She changes her locks. She installs a discreet interior camera. The footage shows nothing. Between 2:17 AM and 2:19 AM, the air in her kitchen seems to shimmer —a single frame of pixel distortion—and then the orange is simply there , as if it had always been.