The black nylon bag waits beneath the cot like a well-trained pet, exactly where I left it before the change overtook me last night. My emergency kit—the one constant in the monthly chaos of my life. I crouch to retrieve it, my muscles protesting with each movement, reminding me that they've been reshaped and returned to human form too rapidly for comfort. The zipper sounds unnaturally loud in the quiet basement, the contents inside precisely arranged—evidence of Mara-before, the woman who plans for everything, who leaves nothing to chance, who believes control is possible.
I pull out the insulated water bottle first, unscrewing the cap with fingers that feel both too blunt and too sensitive. The cool metal against my skin triggers a shiver that runs down my spine, a ghostly reminder of c
