The following Monday, Nif had just finished brushing her teeth after breakfast when her phone rang. Only two people ever called her.

“Sweetheart, you’re being safe, right?” Nif’s mother asked as soon as she answered. No hello or how you’re doing. Nif had never heard her this rattled before.

“Is this about the murders, Mum? I’m fine. I live in a big city. The chances I’d come across this guy is slim.”

“Ask her if she heard about them targeting non-shifters?” Dad said, voice growing louder as he walked closer to the phone.

“I’m on speakerphone, dear,” Mum said, exasperation cutting through her fear. “I’m always on speakerphone when I call her. That’s why you can hear her too.”

“Well, let her answer then!”

“I’ve heard,” Nif interrupted. “There’s only been two deaths so far. It could just be coincidence that they’re both non-shifters.”

“It’s three now, sweetie,” her mother interrupted. “We just heard it on the radio. A young woman was found this morning in a train station toilet. Same awful wounds. Nothing confirmed, but she was registered as a partial-shifter. We know the statistics for non-shifters. It’s a tiny percentage of the population.”

“It’s not as small when you include partial or abnormal shifters, too,” Nif pointed out.

“It’s still too strange to be claiming it’s only coincidental, Nifty-Nif,” Dad murmured. “We’re just worried for you.”

“I’m being careful, I promise. My boss has even offered to drop me off at work in the evenings and I may take him up on it, until they catch the murderer.”

“Good. I texted Sapha earlier and she said she’ll let us know if you don’t show up unexpectedly so make sure you let her know where you are, otherwise we’ll be racing to your place to raise hell.”

“Geez, Mum. Overreacting much.”

“It’s better to be overcautious than have the worst happen. We worry, dear, so just help us put our minds at ease, okay?”

“Of course. I love you guys.”

“We love you too, Nifty-Nif.” Her dad sounded happier with that promise from her.

“Oh, and maybe put dating on hold for a bit.”

“Mum!”

“What? You never really know who these guys are. One could be the murderer for all you know.”

“I doubt the murderer would be busy dating when he’s killing people in his spare time,” Nif pointed out.

“Who knows why people do the things they do. Better safe than sorry.”

“Okay, I won’t. I’m too busy to date now anyway.”

“Good. Anyway, your father is going to be late for university if he doesn’t hoof it.”

“That’s not a linguistically appropriate comment,” her dad muttered.

“I’ll call you guys later this week, okay,” Nif promised and hung up. So a third person had been killed. She was tempted to text Clinton from the support group and see if he’d heard anything when she got a message from him.

Thea said it may be wise to avoid staying out late. Make sure we let someone know where we are at all times, especially if we live alone, but we shouldn’t overreact. Give me a call if any of you need someone to talk to. Tomorrow evening is still going ahead unless I text otherwise.

Nif sent a quick confirmation message and finished getting ready for the day, putting the whole thing firmly in the back of her mind.

The problem with such things was it never stayed there for long.

Monday passed slowly, Nif jumping at the slightest thing. On Tuesday she actually screamed when she turned a corner and ran into Stan in his human form. He offered her a new keepcup in the same colours as her old one and apologised again. The whole experience threw her off balance. She hadn’t even thought the horse shifter had noticed when he’d broken her cup.

Oliver was mostly professional, but someone kept leaving her sweet treats. A cupcake was tucked into her top drawer. A tiny box of specialty chocolates were hidden in a stack of paperwork. On top of the macaroons Leon was still leaving her, Nif was at risk of doubling her weight by Winter Solstice. Clare was giving her the raised eyebrow, which Nif was doing her best to ignore.

“Someone is courting you. Any idea who?” Clare finally asked.

“Maybe?” Nif slumped at her desk, somewhat dismayed by the growing pile of unread unsolicited manuscripts that were still being dumped on her desk.

“Could there be more than one?” Clare asked, sounding both scandalised and impressed.

Nif glanced over to Oliver. He was in the consultation room slash office, only his shoes visible through the frosted glass. She could see vague movement and imagined he was tugging at his hair again. It wasn’t that he lacked ideas. He had half a dozen books under his belt to prove it. It was that he was a perfectionist and he was trying to show off. To Leon — who hadn’t been able to hide his glee when Oliver had read out loud a favourite passage from one of his books — and to her.

The cold front between Nif and Oliver may have warmed somewhat, but she was still reluctant to open herself up to him again. Once a liar, always a liar, her mother often said.

Then there was Leon. Even Charlotte had noticed the boss spending more time with Nif for no obvious reason. Oh, there were excuses, but he’d taken to making his work phone calls at her desk and they had lunch together — usually with Oliver but sometimes just the two of them. It seemed he was determined to remind her he was an option.

As a result, Charlotte had turned oddly calculating and had lingered more in the open plan office than retreat into her claimed consultation room. She even kept Nif updated on A Lonely Star. Charlotte had just received the signed contract from the author Sarah and they were beginning the copy edit stage of the manuscript. Nif wished she was the one providing that feedback. Was this what authors felt about their own work? She felt like only she could provide the right kind of suggestions to make the novel truly shine.

Instead she was meant to be Oliver’s cheer squad and she wasn’t really doing all that great a job.

Nif glanced at her new keepcup and wondered when people had actually started to notice her. Her last date had not even been a full month ago. Trevor or Tucker, or whatever his name was, had quietly and not so subtly disconnected on Tender. Nif hadn’t minded. She wasn’t sure if she was handling all this new attention particularly well, and was defaulting to a defensive nastiness she didn’t like.

“Nif, it’s okay to be uncertain about the attention,” Clare said softly. “You may have been looking for love, but just because someone else may profess their love for you doesn’t mean you have to automatically accept it. It must go both ways. Give yourself time to figure out what you want.”

“But what if they change their mind if I take too long?”

“Then they obviously weren’t worth the effort in the first place. Sometimes being uncertain is enough of an answer. If you’re unsure for too long, then it’s probably not the right thing for you anyway.” Clare flung her cloak around herself and buried her nose into the soft fabric. “And besides, you’re allowed to change your mind as well. Someone might not be right for you now, but maybe they will be in the future.”

“You’re a fountain of wisdom,” Nif said. “Seriously, you’re wasted at Never Archives.”

“Without me, you’d all be lost,” Clare said. “Now it’s time for my nap and I think your pet author needs you.”

“He’s not my pet author,” Nif grumbled, cheeks flushing hot. Oliver was at the consultation door, peering over the opaque glass panel to see if Nif was occupied. When their eyes met, he ducked down, his feet shuffling back and forth as if he was contemplating hiding back behind his desk, before he approached the door, pulled it open and hesitantly peered out.

“Ms Saito? Do you have a moment?”

“Yes, Mr Salem. I’ll be with you shortly.”

He hovered for a moment at the door, before he ducked back inside, retreating back to his seat.

“I must say, that boy would move mountains if he thought it would get a kind word out of you,” Clare said, already undressing to prepare for her nap in her shift form.

“Am I really being that awful?”

“Nif, you have your reasons. Even if you’re still working your way through them, you’re allowed to keep your distance. But have you asked yourself why you’re still punishing him?”

“I am punishing him, aren’t I? I guess I still feel betrayed. I thought he was like me.”

“So he’s not. How does that change things?” Clare carefully hung up her coat and folded her clothes, neatly placing them on her desk chair. Nif noticed a mole shaped like a heart between her breasts and immediately looked to the ceiling.

“It doesn’t really. I never thought I’d date a guy who was a non-shifter. The odds are far too low. I’m not even sure if I was really angry in the first place.”

“Did he apologise?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Then throw the poor man a bone. You don’t have to date him, but that first morning after you met him, you were so excited about making a new friend. A whole bunch of them by the sounds of it, but because of Mr Salem’s personal misgivings, you lost a good support group that I think you really need.”

“I promised I’d go back tonight and see the others.”

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“Good. You seemed more settled in your own skin after you hung out with them. Now go find out what Mr Salem wants and maybe see how things pan out.”

“Yeah, yeah, go curl up before you freeze,” Nif grumbled.

Clare shifted smoothly, her body not so much shrinking but folding in on itself until a tiny dormouse took the place of a forty-year-old woman. The mouse climbed Nif’s leg, tiny claws carefully avoiding skin, and then launched herself off Nif’s hip into the open drawer. Nif closed it almost all the way, leaving enough room for Clare to leave, but also shutting out most of the office light.

Nif wasted a few moments tidying her desk -- mostly moving manuscripts from one side of the space to the other -- until she finally admitted she was stalling. Steeling her resolve, Nif tucked her hair behind her ears and strode towards Oliver’s office, desperately thinking of what to say.

She needn’t have worried. As soon as she opened the door, Oliver leapt to his feet, his hands dropping from where they had been pulling at his hair. It looked like something had been nesting on his head.

“Oh thank god. Look, I know you don’t like me, but I think Leon’s made a mistake in having so much faith in me. I can’t do this. Every time I think I’m finally getting somewhere, something else unravels and I end up starting all over again. Is it too late to give back the advance?”

“Woah, hey, it’s okay,” Nif said, hands up and open as if calming a wild creature. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re struggling with right now and we can go from there.”

“Really? You’d help?” he asked, honestly surprised and Nif regretted her behaviour a hundred times. Here she thought she was being professional, but she’d been doing the absolute minimum to ensure she avoided Oliver’s presence entirely.

“Firstly, I need to apologise, too. For the way I’ve been behaving.” Nif sat opposite Oliver, gesturing for him to sit. The table was covered in notebooks and A3 pieces of papers covered in timelines and plots. Oliver sat as if his strings had been cut. It looked like he hadn’t been sleeping. “I was upset that you lied, but I was mostly angry at myself for how much I invested in you, and that wasn’t fair to either of us.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Oliver said. “When we met, there was something about you that drew me. I got so excited. All the things we talked about that night and sending those texts about stupid things. It felt like I’d already known you for years and I ignored how you didn’t know anything about me because I hadn’t told you yet. I really am sorry I didn’t tell you straight away.” He held out a hand, fingers flexing a little as if he was trying to hide how they were shaking. “Can we start over?”

“I’d like that. I’m Jennifer Saito.”

“Hi, Jennifer. I’m Oliver Stone but I also go by Cliff Salem, the author of a few novels you may have heard of. I shift, but don’t hold that against me.”

“Nice to meet you, Oliver. When was the last time you had a meal?”

“The wonderful Clare brought me a breakfast roll. I’ll eat as soon as I’ve sorted this current mess.”

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re having trouble with?”

Oliver drummed his fingers on the desk, chewing the corner of his mouth, clearly pondering where to start.

“I’ve been given this amazing opportunity. But it always feels like all these eyes are on me. Judging and dismissive. Mocking every word. It needs to be perfect or else this chance will be taken away from me. Leon will move on to someone more qualified to write this script and my story and my characters will be twisted to dance to someone else’s tune. They’re precious to me. They’ve brought me so much and it’s the least I can do is show them to the world in the best light.”

Nif hummed, fighting to reach out and stop his drumming.

“But it’s just a first draft,” she reminded him. “Afterwards you’ll be provided feedback and suggestions and you can continue to polish it.” Nif tried hard not to read Oliver’s sprawling handwriting. See if it really was as awful as he thought.

“You’re not a published author,” he argued. “You don’t lose anything of yourself when you read someone else’s work, but when that author is read, they’re making themselves vulnerable. To rejection. To misunderstanding. To judgement.” He flung his hands about in emphasis. “It doesn’t get any easier the more you do it and the more popular you become, the more expectations are heaped onto your shoulders. Your skin just grows a little thicker but there are always comments and suggestions and criticisms that are sharply barbed and can pierce any armour.” Oliver chuckled. “It sounds like I’m complaining. So many people would kill to be where I am. Writing my own script for my novel. How awesome is that? I’m just afraid of letting my fans down.”

“Let’s tackle one thing at a time. Big picture stuff. You’ve got a 24 episode Chillnet series tentatively planned but four books of material.” Nif found a blank sheet and found a pen that worked. “Let’s get down to the basics. What’s the overarching plot.”

Hours passed. Clare woke from her nap, fed them lunch and afternoon tea, and shooed away any curious colleagues.

This was what Nif had dreamed of. Working so close with an author, asking the right questions and helping them shape something truly epic.

Leon popped in, bringing gifts of macaroons, and enthusiastically began sketching out additional character designs for new supporting characters until a phone call dragged him away. At closing time, they’d plastered the glass walls with 24 episode outlines and multiple story arcs that wove the episodes together.

A knock at the door startled both Oliver and Nif, making them glance up from their mountains of paperwork.

“It’s almost six, Nif. Didn’t you say you had that meeting tonight?” Clare smiled fondly at the two of them as if they were cute puppies napping in a corner.

“Oh. Really? Six?” Nif made some attempt to tidy the desk but gave up. Things had their order and she was reluctant to move anything and risk losing their place tomorrow.

“I’m heading off, but I’ll see you both tomorrow. Lock the door behind you when you leave, Nif.” Clare left and an awkward silence descended

“Shall I drive you?” Oliver asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but his fingers were drumming a rapid heartbeat against the table.

“If you wouldn’t mind. The buses are a bit hit and miss at this time.” Was this too soon? They’d only officially made up as friends, but it seemed silly to go separately when the start and end locations were the same.

“It’s already dark anyway. Driving would be easier.”

Nif locked the office and waved farewell to the Great Dane shifter security guard who knitted premie hats during the quiet nights on duty. Oliver had parked in the underground garage and the silence as Nif buckled herself in was strangely awkward after such a high energy creative day they’d just experienced.

“Are you warm enough?” Oliver asked, fiddling with the AC.

“I’m okay. I’m used to layers,” Nif said, surprised. Shifters often forgot that they ran at slightly hotter body temperature so most spaces were heated to their comfort. Children, pre-shifted teens and non-shifters had to manage the best they could.

“You hungry? I normally bring the snacks, but I lost track of time. Do you mind if we swing by the shops.”

Walking through a grocery store with Oliver was odd. On the evening she’d met him, she’d imagined such inane moments with him as a happy, cute couple. Instead they fought over who held the basket, so they ended up with one each, and got separated between two aisles and spent far too long looking for each other. Nif couldn’t help but wonder if this would be a metaphor for their developing relationship, whatever it was evolving into.

They arrived late to the support group, and Clinton was standing in front of the others, hands behind his back as he studied them all sombrely.

“Hey everyone,” Oliver called from the back of the hall. “Why so glum? Look who I’ve brought with me!” Oliver bounded up to the stage and deposited the drinks and snacks they’d just purchased.

“Nif!” Moira bellowed, almost knocking them both off the stage in her enthusiasm. The young woman was a slight weight against her, but warm and welcome. When was the last time someone hugged her? Her mother? Sapha?

The heavy atmosphere eased as the rest of the group happily greeted Nif as a long lost friend. Her eyes stung a little, surprised and warmed at their genuine joy at seeing her. Why had she even thought of not coming? Because of a boy?

Said boy was standing off to the side of the seats, smiling smugly. When their eyes met, his shone happily, and the awkwardness in the car was swept away. If Nif wasn’t careful, she’d be neck deep in her tumultuous emotions again when even now she was only just managing to keep on top.

“Jennifer, it’s wonderful you’ve been able to come again,” Clinton said, eyes like crescent moons, and shook her hand between two of his. The palms were dry and cool, and Nif imagined he could be a woodcarver with hands like those. Shaping puzzle boxes and children’s toys. “We’ll all take a moment to grab some refreshments, and then we’ll continue.”

Oliver tried to be subtle, but in the end he was seated beside Nif while on her other side was Moira. It was as if they were trying to assure themselves that she wasn’t going anywhere. Escape out the back door and out of their lives forever, when in all honesty, she was finding it hard to imagine her life without them anymore.

Once the group had all settled, Clinton retook his position in front of the group. It wasn’t his normal spot. Although Nif had only attended the one support group, Clinton had appeared relaxed in a chair like all the others. Only taking the lead to introduce her and then letting the group manage themselves. This time, he had something he wanted to tell them and it didn’t look good.

“I’m glad Jennifer and Oliver have been able to join us. This is relevant to all of us, even Oliver.”

Josephine and Philippa were holding hands, the usually sour looking Philippa looking mean enough to chew iron nails.

“You may have heard by now about the recent murders. Belinda Woltonstcroft, Jeremy Chang and Sarah Lawson. Remember those names because I fear they won’t be the last non or partial shifter to be targeted. Thea has asked me to talk to you all tonight because we’re one of the largest non and partial shifter groups in the city.” Clinton looked at each of them in turn.

“Remember, this is a safe place, so if there’s anything you know, you can pass it on to me and I’ll report it to Thea. That way none of you will be put at risk. Maybe you’ve noticed something odd when you walk home or someone has suddenly appeared in your life and seems strangely interested. Anything at all could be helpful.”

There was a heavy silence that followed. Moira squirmed in her seat, trapping her hands beneath her thighs and chewing her lip. Morris was like a solid wall. Unhappy and unimpressed. The sisters appeared to sink even more into each other, shifting into a singular creature.

Nif wondered if they suspected her. She was the new person in their midst. How easy would it be to say you couldn’t shift? The only thing that made her believable was the question, why would anyone pretend they couldn’t? She could show them her license. The circle that usually had a stylised silhouetted image of the person’s shift form was empty except for the letters NS. Would they close ranks nonetheless and kick her out of the group?

“We’ll look after each other,” Philippa spoke. “Make sure we all have each other’s phone numbers. If we see anything, we let each other know.”

“I’ve not really noticed anything,” Moira said. “I’ve been so focused on my research.”

“I’ll pick you up after you finish for the day. No matter when, just call,” Oliver insisted. “You too, Jennifer.”

“I’m nowhere near your place and I’ve already sorted my own lift,” Nif said.

“Who?”

“Leon’s offered. He’s my boss,” she added for the benefit of the rest of the group.

Oliver fought not to make a face, but Nif still caught the scowl on his lips.

“Another thing to consider is the wisdom of these meetings,” Clinton said. The group burst into protest, their voices echoing across the hall.

“They’re important!” Josephine cried, tugging the neckline of her dress.

“They can’t take this from us through fear and intimidation!” Philippa yelled, towering upright even though she was one of the shortest in the room.

Oliver was the only one silent. Nif could tell what he was thinking. That it would be safer for them. Be smarter. But he didn’t understand. He was a shifter. He’d never comprehend what it was like to have something taken from him because of a perceived weakness.

“Okay, okay, I hear you. I didn’t want to either, but I had to offer,” Clinton boomed over everyone. “Thea didn’t think we would disband and it could still be a coincidence. There’s no need to change what we do. Investigations are underway, and until we know non and partial shifters are being targeted for certain, we should be more aware of our surroundings.”

“No murdering monster will scare us.” That was surprisingly from shy Josephine.

“Indeed. Just be careful. Now, let’s talk about what we’ve been up to,” Clinton said, changing the subject, and a collective exhalation took the tension down a notch.

Morris shyly raised a hand.

“I’ve got an art showing of my planet collection this Thursday night,” Morris said. He tucked his fingers together, as if to keep his excitement and nerves in check. “I’m friends with the owner of Delarian Gallery and he had a few empty walls after a last minute cancellation. I was wondering if you’d like to come?”

“Of course!” Nif blurted and Morris ducked his head, clearly pleased.

“We’d love to, Morris,” Moira added. “We can dress up!”

“I’m free. When does it start?” Clinton asked.

“At 8pm. I’ll send you an invite,” Morris said.

Oliver grabbed a can of drink and held it high. “Shall we make a toast then?”

Nif proffered her tea and Philippa and Josephine giggled childishly when they almost knocked over their plastic wine glasses full of pink moscato.

“To art!” Moira lifted her soda can.

“To being fearless!” Philippa followed.

“To new friends,” Nif said softly.

“I’ll drink to that,” Clinton said and they all drank deeply.