Briar-Rose Everthorne slumped into the chair, surrounded by the dull walls of her cubicle. Her gaze fell on the cluttered desk, strewn with papers listing names of people she was supposed to call and inquire about their current life insurance plans. But, she couldn’t find it in her to call and disrupt someone’s perfectly fine morning with morbid scenarios in which their deaths would leave their loved ones unprotected. She groaned, sipping her coffee, then grimaced at its frigid, stale taste, trickling it back into the mug.

“Hideously cold, right?” a male voice chimed in.

“Well, it’s not warm,” Briar-Rose replied, eyeing the man leaning against her cubicle entrance with his own mug. “Hey, Grant.”

“Seriously, it’s like, which chick around here do we have to teach to make a decent cup of coffee?” Grant grinned, his gaze drifting from her eyes to resting comfortably on her chest.

"Did you need something?" Briar-Rose asked, ignoring his blatant lack of decency.

“Uh, yeah,” Grant leaned in, brushing Briar-Rose’s jet-black hair behind her ear to meet her deep blue eyes. “You still owe me a date.”

“What?” Briar-Rose spat, oblivious to the coffee in her mug beginning to sway.

“Remember, last week, I covered for your big loss with Clifford, and you said you owed me one.”

“Yeah, a favor,” Briar-Rose insisted.

“But wouldn’t dinner,” Grant traced a heart shape with his finger on her leg just below her skirt line, “and a show be more fun?”

“I’m busy,” Briar-Rose stated, redirecting his finger away before it ventured further up her thigh.

“I didn’t give a date,” Grant laughed.

“Consider me busy indefinitely for gross womanizing pigs.” Briar turned back to her desk. “Is that it? Because I have work to catch up on.”

“Fucking Amish tease,” Grant huffed, striding across the aisle to his cubicle.

Briar-Rose sighed, struggling to regain her composure when her purse buzzed. She rummaged through it, quickly extracting her phone.

“No personal calls!” Grant shouted from his desk.

Briar-Rose rolled her eyes and hunched over her phone, her long hair concealing it as she pressed it to her ear.

“Hey, Aggie. Now’s not a good time.”

“I just wanted to remind you you’re coming by tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah. I don’t think—”

“Briar-Rose Everthorne, you better not be blowing me off… again,” Aggie scolded. “When was the last time you actually made it over here?”

“I know it’s been a while since my last visit, Aggie,” she whispered.

“Two and a half months,” Aggie replied, laden with disappointment. “Honestly, if I’d known both you and Nia were going to abandon me in my old age, I’d’ve found a proper boy thing to keep me company.”

“You mean a husband?” Briar-Rose asked, unable to restrain the smile creeping up her face or the small giggle that slipped through her lips. She almost forgot she wasn’t supposed to be on the phone.

“You and titles. You know I don’t believe in such constraints,” Aggie huffed. “So, will I be seeing you tomorrow?”

“Aggie, I’m swamped with work, and I have to do well here,” Briar-Rose said. She glanced over her shoulder and caught Grant glowering at her. “I have to work late tonight and probably tomorrow too.”

“Briar….” Aggie’s voice faltered. “Indulge this old, lonely woman one more time… while you still have the chance.”

“Resorting to guilt? An Aggie classic.” Briar's grin vanished upon seeing Grant speak with a man in a sleek, expensive suit. When Grant pointed at her, the man's scowl intensified. Feeling her cheeks flush, she swiftly redirected her attention to her phone. “Okay, Aggie, I’ll try, but I really have to go now.”

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She ended the call before Aggie could respond. She mustered a smile as the man in the tailored suit approached her desk. “Mr. Clifford,” Briar greeted, her smile strained over her flushed cheeks. “You look ni—”

“Miss. Everthorne. My office, please.” Mr. Clifford’s interjected, his tone brisk. He walked down the hallway toward his office at the far end without waiting for her response.

Casting a sharp glare at Grant, Briar rose from her desk and started towards the office.

“I’m guessing there’s gonna be a ton of free time in your calendar soon,” Grant sneered.

Briar paused in the aisle, a low growl forming in her throat. As she growled, the coffee in Grant's mug started to boil. Grant, oblivious, raised the steaming mug to his lips with a laugh.

"Shit!" Grant shouted, pulling the scalding cup away from his mouth. Reacting instinctively, he dropped the hot mug onto his lap. He sprang up, howling in pain. "Oh, God! Shit! Shit! Shit!"

A wicked grin crossed Briar's face as she heard Grant's screams while entering Mr. Clifford's office. She wasn’t sure the cause, but she suspected one of the many other women in the office had finally grown tired of his dickish ways.

***

“A-Aggie said the cups go in the far cupboard,” a frail, trembling lilt voice said behind Jace as he crammed two glasses into an overcrowded cabinet brimming with bowls.

“It doesn’t matter where they go, Orphan Annie,” Jace retorted, annoyance saturating his tone as he snatched another dish from the dishwasher.

“I told you, it’s Harper,” she corrected sharply, bristling at the macabre nickname. A wave of irritation swept through her, mirrored in the flicker of her auburn eyes. She exhaled sharply through her nose, the breath stirring the untamed red curls that framed her burning cheeks. She reached for a plate, determined to put it away properly.

“It’s not like we’re gonna be here long enough for your name to matter to me,” Jace shot back. “And, like I said, it doesn’t matter where things go ‘cause the old lady’s just trying to keep us busy, so we don’t think about our dead folks.”

Harper paused, Jace's offhand remark about their parents' murders unsettling her. She lowered her head, even more disturbed, realizing that was the first time she’d felt sad about them since yesterday.

“Not true,” Aggie’s warm voice cut through Harper’s sorrow, her motherly aura enveloping the room as she walked in with another girl around Harper and Jace's age.

The girl remained eerily quiet while Aggie guided her to a seat at the table, offering her a cookie from the previous night’s batch. Aggie then grabbed two more cookies, distributing them to Jace and Harper before giving a tender nudge for them to go sit. She proceeded to retrieve the glasses Jace had misplaced and put them in their proper home. “You never know when a properly placed dish could save a life. And, I’m not that old…yet,” she said, winking at Jace.

Harper giggled at Aggie's joke, nibbling on her cookie, while Jace just rolled his eyes and took a bite. He sat opposite the newest arrival, whose attention shifted from the uneaten cookie to him. He scrunched his brows together, his curiosity piqued when he noticed some blue specks swirling in her irises, but her gaze dropped before he could study them closer.

“What’s with the ghost of Christmas yet to come?” Jace asked, nodding toward the somber, darkly clothed girl while biting into his cookie.

Aggie rummaged through a drawer by the dishwasher, eventually pulling out a white twine bracelet. “Where’s my head?” she exclaimed, returning to the girl’s side.

“Probably floating in a bong somewhere in the sixties," Jace muttered under his breath, earning a disapproving glare from Harper.

“Jace and Harper, this is Acacia,” Aggie said, securing the twine bracelet around Acacia’s wrist, which changed a light tan when she released it. She placed a comforting hand on Acacia’s shoulder. “She’ll be staying with us for a while.”

“Ex juvie?” Jace inquired suspiciously.

“No. Acacia lost her parents last night,” Aggie paused, taking Acacia’s untouched cookie from its napkin and placing it in her hand. “Eat, dear.”

Acacia's vacant stare pierced through Aggie, who simply smiled back. "Eating might help settle your stomach."

Acacia’s gaze shifted between Aggie and the cookie before she took a small, tentative bite. Her eyelids fluttered shut as a symphony of flavors danced upon her tongue. She savored the taste, holding the cookie in her mouth far longer than necessary. When she finally swallowed, a sense of lightness washed over her for the first time since the harrowing events of the previous night.

Acacia inspected her new bracelet with a frown. It clashed awkwardly against her collection of vibrant bands. She began to remove it, but Aggie’s hand intervened.

“Please, keep it on. For your own protection,” Aggie urged.

Acacia raised a skeptical brow at her.

“She’s old, so she’s superstitious,” Jace said, spinning his finger around his temple. He then flaunted his arm, revealing a similar wristlet.

Acacia noticed Harper also wore one and, with a resigned sigh, stopped fiddling with hers. Aggie gave an approving smile and returned to unloading the dishes.

“So, how long is Morticia gonna be here?” Jace asked, mouth full of cookie as he eyed Acacia’s gothic attire. “You know they make colors beside ‘death’ and ‘the blood of entitled children,’ right?”

“Says the boy whose fashion comes from ‘Dumpsters ‘R’ Us,’” Acacia shot back, glancing at Jace’s hole-riddled long-sleeved shirt and frayed pants.

Harper let out a snicker but quickly composed herself, diligently collecting the crumbs in front of her onto a napkin as Jace released a menacing snarl.

“Children, please…” Aggie's reprimanding tone faded as she placed a mug on a nearby shelf; her words hung unfinished in the air as a potent surge gripped her, depleting her strength. Her head leaned heavily against the shelf, and the mug slipped from her limp grasp, crashing onto the floor in a fatal concerto of shards.

"Aggie?" Harper's voice trembled as she rose, her expression mirroring her deep concern.

Aggie attempted to give Harper a reassuring smile but couldn’t. Her jaw tightened as her consciousness spiraled into an all-encompassing darkness.

You thought you could protect them…. A voice, harsh and grating like a rusted knife scraping a steel plate, echoed through the nothingness ensnaring Aggie.