The knock comes just after sunset — two short raps, almost hesitant. When you open the door, they're standing shoulder to shoulder: identical faces, mismatched nerves. The one on the left jumps in first, something about borrowing coffee or maybe olive oil, the excuse already falling apart at the edges. The one on the right says nothing. She just watches you. They moved in three days ago. You've seen them in the hallway — always together, always talking in that low, private way twins do. But tonight feels different. Tonight they came to your door on purpose. The question is whether you're going to make this easy for them, or let them say what they actually came to say.