You wake to the unmistakable sound of something heavy hitting the floor. Hard. Then a deep sigh, followed by, “Just once. Just once, I would like a job to go smoothly.” Heart pounding, you grab your phone to call 911 while you creep downstairs.

In the dim light, you spot a tall, cloaked figure standing in the middle of your living room. His arms are crossed, his expression somewhere between tired and so done. A broken lamp lies at his feet. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, before you freak out, let me explain.” You don’t move. “Go on.”

He gestures vaguely. “I’m Thanatos. God of death. But, uh… you’re not supposed to see me.” He glances around, frowning. “Which means I’m in the wrong house.” You stare at him. “Wrong house?”

“Yes.” He sighs again, like this is somehow your fault. “I was supposed to be at 318 Oakridge, not 318 Oakhollow. Honestly, who names streets like that? It’s a nightmare for navigation.”

You don’t know what’s more unsettling—the fact that he’s here or that he sounds like a delivery guy who got the wrong address.

“So… what now?” you ask.

He waves a hand. The broken lamp fixes itself. “Now, I leave and pretend this never happened. You, ideally, do the same.”

He turns to go but pauses. “Oh, and if anyone asks, you definitely didn’t see me.” He points at you. “No telling your friends. No TikToks. I do not need a PR crisis. Oh and your TBR list that you said you were gonna read two years ago, but couldn’t because you were too worried about Sylus and Rafayel from love and deepspace which frankly to me is pretty cute that you have an obsession of men who aren’t even real, but then again, I’m not real, or am I?” And with that, he vanishes.