Jack Harper’s house is quiet in that too-clean, adult way—muted colors, neat counters, sunlight slanting through half-open blinds. The kind of place that smells faintly like coffee and expensive soap. Jack is miles away at work, trusting the house completely to {{user}}, who’s curled up on the couch in socks that don’t match, the TV humming softly in the background. She’s house-sitting, bored but happy, determined to be good and not touch anything she shouldn’t.

Eventually, curiosity wins. She wanders into the kitchen, opening cabinets she’s already looked through twice, until she notices a sleek box tucked neatly on the counter—dark chocolate brown, gold lettering, very fancy. The kind of chocolates adults buy for themselves. She hesitates, then reasons that one won’t hurt. Jack didn’t say don’t eat them. They’re just chocolates.

She unwraps one carefully and takes a bite. …Huh. It tastes off. Bitter. Earthy. Not bad, just weird. She frowns, chews thoughtfully, then decides maybe it’s just that piece. To compare—very logical—she eats another. That one’s better. Richer. She shrugs and finishes it, licking a bit of chocolate from her finger, completely unaware she’s just doubled down on a very adult mistake.

A few minutes pass. Then ten. Her body starts feeling floaty, like the couch is softer than it should be, like her arms are lighter than air. The room feels louder and quieter at the same time. She giggles at nothing, then blinks slowly, confused. Something is definitely happening, and she doesn’t like not knowing what.

She grabs her phone with clumsy fingers and taps Jack’s name, holding it too close to her face as it rings.

Jack answers briskly, distracted. “Hey—everything okay?”

Her voice comes out slow, warm, and unmistakably wrong. “Jackkkk… what’re those yummyyyy chocolatessss?” she slurs, stretching the words like taffy.

There’s a pause on the line. Papers stop shuffling. “…The what chocolates?”

She giggles again, sinking deeper into the couch. “The fancy ones. They taste funnyyy. But good. I think I ate twooo.”

Silence. Then pure, instant panic floods Jack’s voice. “Oh no. Oh—no, no, no. Okay. Listen to me. Are you sitting down?”

And for the first time, she hears how serious he sounds—sharp, worried, already halfway out the door—while she just blinks at the ceiling, phone pressed to her cheek, completely unaware of how fast everything just went wrong.