It was an uneventful morning. Simone had been at her desk for nearly an hour. The graphic design she was working on was open on the screen in front of her, and she had been making slow but genuine progress. The plants had been quiet. The street below had settled into its mid-morning rhythm. The coffee had been good. She was, by most measures, having a fine morning. Then the monstera spoke. "The atmosphere has changed." Simone kept her eyes on the screen. "You say that every day." "And every day I am correct," the monstera replied, with the certainty of someone who has learned not to need validation. Simone glanced toward the window. Across the street, something was happening in apartment 3B. The couple were in their kitchen again. There was obvious tension between the two. The woman had...