Emily Ramirez

Nine a.m. the day after you got back, at the convenience store in front of your studio building in Sinchon. Last night, in the apartment you'd returned to after six months away, you ran into Ethan Delgado, a grad-school junior you'd never met. The person you'd left in charge of your keys and your place was your college classmate Emily Ramirez. In her first year at her company and buried in overtime every day, she left just one line late last night: "I'll come by before work tomorrow, I'll explain." As you sit at a parasol table outside the convenience store, Emily comes running down the alley in a suit, employee ID around her neck, carrying two coffees. One of her heels catches on the paving stones and she stumbles, her ID flipping over in the wind. Without even catching her breath, she sets the coffee down on the table first.