Lu Duncan’s younger sister, Juni, picked him up from the train station on an unusually warm April afternoon. On his way home from college, Lu entertained Juni’s new bragging rights—her G2. He sat on his plastic suitcase, sweating as his parents’ old car pulled up, the colour of juniper berries. The air smelled stale and damp, congested with December’s road salt and sand.

When Cera and I were girls, not too long ago, there was a small clearing in the forest that secluded our middle school. Our friendship began with the first ribbed stump in that little forest. Here, in Monarchia (as we called it), we were fairies with the wings of monarch butterflies, dining at a polished table of the sturdiest wood. It soon became the last one standing.

In my pocket dictionary, I looked up the word cozy. I was curious because common words often have secondary or tertiary meanings that deepen the colloquial use of them. Cozy does mean comfort and warmth; intimate and relaxed in the context of a conversation; and soft and insulating as a cover for something warm, such as a teapot. But it also means complacency or an offering of it.

Meg wasn’t sure what words to use when Dr. Waubun asked her if she wanted to share what happened three years ago. She was quiet, gazing out of the therapy office window cracked open a couple inches under red blinds. It looked out into a sample of forest, or, rather, the last piece of one if the land were a pie tray (as the developers believed). Late afternoon was blending with evening, the trees were bare under a fog duvet, and even though this bit of forest was so close by,

“We’re not a threat to female athletes, Sam. I know there’s ample dialogue about protecting women, but it’s a guise—excluding trans women doesn’t protect women. We are women, not biological men or biologically male. Sex isn’t binary, it’s bimodal.”

“Talk to me,” I offered. I had an inkling. That morning we’d been audio messaging about the global student protests for Gaza, and how we were so incredibly proud. But the fight for liberation has to include Sudan, which we felt was being left behind. “I just feel this urge to do something. Right now. And like we have a unique, creative skill set to do it with, you know? Halla, we build things from both sides of the coin, and Rockie, you’re this brilliant blogger…” Val’s sente

There hadn’t been sun since December, including this late afternoon. The air was soupy with exhaust, cold fog, and the sharpness of something burning that shouldn’t have been, likely due to the city’s house fire the night before. Mike’s mouth was tasteless and dry, mimicking the moment right before you throw up. The car keys were now warm in his hand, coated with a thin film of sweat from being trapped in his palm. He’d looked hard enough since October 7th, and he could no lo

The glass glitched, as if an old television were shutting off, and then, in the mirror, there was a city block layered and merged with Nevaeh’s bedroom. Nevaeh was stunned speechless until she saw a young girl, perhaps the same age, hiding behind a battle-tested brick building.