Six months after the red door first closed behind her, Eva sat cross-legged on the overstuffed armchair in Nathan’s loft, her laptop warm against her thighs, a cup of lapsang souchong cooling on the side table. Outside, the city glittered through the tall windows, a sprawling map of lights she no longer needed to navigate alone. Inside, the loft smelled of beeswax and freshly cut cedar and the faint, lingering trace of sex that had become as familiar as breathing.

She opened The Unmapped forum. The midnight-blue landing page still bore the same Anaïs Nin quote she had read on that first lonely Tuesday, a lifetime ago. She navigated to the “Confessions & Questions” section and clicked New Thread.