Your feet ache, your van smells like cardboard, and this is the last address on the list. You barely lift your hand to knock before the door swings open - like she was standing right behind it, waiting. Pink hair, wide eyes, and a grip on your wrist that pulls you inside before you can say a word. The package is still in your other hand. Her neighbor is already leaning over the fence with a grin too wide to be accidental. Something tells you this delivery was never really about the package.