/Cast the Net by Sarah Blasko

The clock on her nightstand said it was 2am.

Morinna lay in bed for a few moments, blinking into the dark, feeling that her eyes were puffy. When she went to get up she realised that the narrow heel of her shoe was snagged on the sheets, and, sitting up, she noticed that she was still wearing the same outfit that she had put on before going out that morning.

Then she remembered the bookshop, and the tall man with the brown hair and leather jacket, and that god forsaken Kurt Vonnegut book, and she closed her eyes again, collapsing back against the pillows. She had been so sure, for just a second, that it was him. He had found her. Morinna screwed up her face, wrestling with tears, and allowed herself just one defeated whimper before she got up, face carefully expressionless.

Her apartment was quiet despite the guests. Only half of the little kitchenette lights were on, the rest of the apartment shadowy, and Morinna could see Lydia curled up on the couch with a heavy book open on the floor below her. Scott looked up as she walked in, already pouring her a cup of coffee. She supposed he had heard her coming. She gave him a grateful smile and crossed the room to the sideboard, pulling a purple blanket out of the bottom draw and going to spread it over the sleeping girl.

Scott smiled gently as she returned to the kitchen, holding out the steaming mug to her.

"Did you get enough sleep?" he asked in a low voice, inclining his head at her like a concerned parent.

Morinna shrugged, taking the drink from him. "I don't actually need to sleep, so more than enough."

Scott sat down at the bar, a curious expression on his face. Morinna hadn't noticed how attractive he was until then – in the dim light the strength of his features was played up, and his brown eyes sparkled.

"You don't? Why do it, then?" he asked, attentive.

Morinna pondered his question for a few seconds, sipping her coffee. "I'm not sure. It's like meditation, I guess. Relaxing. And dreams can still be useful for processing things."

"Did you dream just now?"

Morinna paused for a fraction too long, the walls Scott was used to coming back up. "I don't remember."

He nodded, leaning on his hand. "Isaac is coming over later," he told her.

"As long as you don't send Stiles I'll take anybody," she said with a coy smile.

Scott chuckled. "I'm sure you'll grow to like him. One day."

"Well, I'm not sure that I have that long, so we don't have to worry," Morinna joked, watching the bubbles swirl around on the surface of her drink.

He looked at her searchingly, trying to draw an emotion from her features. "How are you taking it? The whole dying thing, I mean. Liam told me you freaked out earlier. There's still a chance we can stop it, you know. That's why we're here."

She shrugged. "Have you ever seen Final Destination?"

Scott looked bemused. "Subtle subject change, Morinna. No, I don't think so."

"Neither have I, coincidentally. But I know the gist of the plot – group of people escape death when they shouldn't have, are slowly killed off in freak accidents."

"And… you want to watch it?"

"I know I talk a lot of shit, Scott, but do have some patience. I'm getting to the point," chastised Morinna, giving him a bleak look. "So, as I was saying, even when they escape death it catches up with them eventually. They die in all sorts of horrible ways, too. In the end it would have been better for them to die with everyone else in the beginning, though I suppose that wouldn't be much of a movie. I'm rambling, I know, but my point is this: if all those characters in the movies had escaped the plane crash, or the roller coaster, or whatever it was that killed them all, and realised that not a second of their lives was guaranteed and that they were living on borrowed time, then death wouldn't have been so traumatic. Escaping death doesn't work out."

"That's a horrible way to look at things!" Scott protested. "You're basically saying that people try to avoid death just for the sake of it. That's not true. People don't want to die because they don't want to leave behind their family, or the people they love, or anything else about their lives."

Morinna considered this. "Perhaps," she conceded. "Perhaps I'm so blasé because everybody I love stayed on the great metaphorical airplane before it exploded on take-off. But is that such a bad thing? I know I should have died on the plane, so I won't be upset if I die this week. I got an extra year. I can't complain."

"You mean your family died in a plane crash? And you didn't?"

"It's a metaphor, Scott. Plot of the first Final Destination? There were no planes involved, it was a home invasion," she said emotionlessly. "This was a really elaborate way of saying I'm fine, not freaking out at all."

Scott ran through a long list of things he wanted to say – that she was obviously not fine if she had a panic attack earlier, that he was sorry about her family, that he disagreed wholly with her worldview, even the obvious question about the home invasion. For some reason though, all he could say was "It sounds like you just have nothing to live for."

Morinna gave him a sharp look, glaring at him over her coffee cup. "I always wanted to study philosophy," she said lightly. "Since I was little. I suppose it's morbid, thinking so much about the meaning of life and death and everything, but I find it fascinating."

He didn't comment on the subject change.

"Why don't you? College applications are starting soon."

She looked amused. "I'm still figuring things out," she said. "Let's try and survive the week first."

/Doing it to Death by The Kills

He was leaning nonchalantly against the wall in the hallway when she opened the door, conspicuously aloof. If their first meeting hadn't been him saving her ass from Lydia's psychotic boyfriend, Morinna might have been intimidated.

"You look pretty," was the first thing Isaac said to her, immediately cringing at his own words. He was telling the truth, though – she seemed bright-eyed and well rested, her pupils strangely large, only a small ring of blue around them, and her white blouse put some colour into her pale skin.

"You sound like you want something," Morinna commented drily, standing back against her door to let him pass.

"Coffee, if you're offering," he said smoothly, brushing past her as he entered. "Morning, team."

Scott raised a hand at him from the kitchen, where he was frying bacon at the stove, and Lydia gave him a grunt of acknowledgement, her nose in a book.

"If I ever don't have a full pot of coffee, assume I'm dead," said Morinna, leaning out into the corridor to look both ways along it before shutting the door and sliding the deadbolt across. "In fact, safely assume I am dead even with coffee."

"Would you consider yourself dead, then?" Lydia asked, looking up from her work. "Undead, even?"

Morinna seemed to realise what she had said and pressed her lips together. "How could I ever know, truly?" she said in a way that was both dramatic and evasive, nudging Scott out of the way so she could get into a cupboard. "Nice apron, Scott, where did you get it?"

Scott looked down at the floral embroidered apron around his waist and snorted, poking an applique butterfly. "Somebody with terrible taste, clearly."

Morinna lightly cuffed him on the back of the head, jostling him for counter space as he transferred bacon onto a plate, laughing at her. Suddenly she stiffened and rounded on Lydia.

"No," she said firmly, voice raised, eyes full of fury.

"No?" Lydia repeated, looking doubtfully at her, hand paused mid page-turn.

"Your boyfriend is coming over. No. No to – to all of that."

"How do you do that?" Scott asked, mouth hanging open. "Are you psychic?"

"I'm something."

Lydia rolled her eyes, standing up and pulling her green cardigan on. "Stiles is picking me up to go and get breakfast. Don't worry, I told him to wait in the parking lot."

Morinna slammed her mug down moodily and crossed to the huge window, staring down into the carpark and then back at Lydia, giving her a withering look.

"That's why he's walking towards the building, I'm sure."

Lydia scowled. "He said he'd wait. Look, Morinna, he probably just wants to apologi-"

"I'm sure he does," Morinna muttered, not sounding convinced. "Isaac, your coffee is ready. Now, everyone, let's hide everything flammable because a pyromaniac is coming over."

Isaac snorted, picking up his drink and stealing some of Scott's bacon while he was close.

There was a tentative knock at the door, Lydia standing up to open it. Morinna dashed past her, almost dancing, and slid the deadbolt back across. She opened the door slowly, giving Stiles a catlike grin. He glowered at her.

"Stiles," Morinna said in a low voice. "I'm so happy that you came all this way to beg for my forgiveness."

Solemnly, Stiles dropped to his knees, head bowed and hands clasped. "I feel awful about what I did to you, Morinna. It was dumb of me. I sincerely apologise for my behaviour. I hope you can find it in your hea-"

"Stiles," Lydia said sharply from over Morinna's shoulder, arms crossed.

Stiles looked around himself for a moment and then leapt to his feet.

"Get out of my head!" he shouted, squaring up to Morinna.

"Get out of my apartment," she replied sweetly, retreating to the kitchen and scooping up a magazine on the way. Stiles swore she was practically skipping.

"I'm not even in your apartment! I'm in the hallway! And I don't know what you're grinning at!" Stiles ranted, glaring at Isaac who held his hands up, feigning innocence. "Scott, are you just gonna let her do that?"

Scott shrugged, picking at his food, clearly suppressing laughter.

"He's not my alpha," Morinna pointed out, flicking through the pages. "Ooh, horoscopes!"

"Please don't do your mind control thing, Morinna, it's rude," Lydia sighed wearily, picking up her book.

"So is trying to set –"

"We get it!" Stiles cried. "I threatened you with fire. That was wrong of me. I should think before I act. I'm sorry, okay!"

Morinna pursed her lips, eyes trained pointedly on her reading material. Lydia walked towards the front door, calling a simple goodbye to her friends as she went.

"I know he deserves it," Scott said in a gentle voice, coming to stand over Morinna. "But I think, if you tried, you and Stiles would really get on."

Morinna gave him a dazzling smile. "Forgiveness is for the weak."

/Crowded Places by Banks

"I'm bored," Morinna murmured.

Isaac could tell. She had changed positions six times in the last ten minutes, and was currently hanging over the edge of the sofa with her back on the seat and her legs curled around her backrest.

"Me too," he agreed, looking down at her.

"You can go, you know," she said neutrally. "I'm totally fine. I'll call if an assassin breaks in."

"Funny," Isaac said, deadpan. "What do you want to do?"

"Steal the Declaration of Independence."

"Wow, are you a comedian?" Isaac said sarcastically, side-eying her

She huffed and swung her legs forward, tumbling backwards off the sofa. She knocked her knee on the coffee table on the way down, yelping, and ending up on her knees with her hair a mess.

"Well, apparently I'm not a gymnast," she muttered, standing up and brushing dust off the front of her navy high-waist shorts.

Morinna walked to the kitchen, hoisting herself up with a knee on the counter to get to one of the highest cupboards. She pulled out a full bottle of whisky, setting it down and jumping back onto the floor.

Isaac narrowed his eyes at it as she pulled two short glasses out of another cupboard.

"Isn't it a bit early?"

"Sounds like quitter talk to me, Isaac."

"Well, I don't need any. It takes a lot to get me drunk. Wolf metabolism, and all."

He remembered the plane journey back to the US a week ago, when the fog had just been lifting from his brain and everything seemed bright and new. The air hostess had come around with her trolley, offering him a drink, and he had eyed the little bottles of whiskey and bourbon and vodka and then turned down the offer of alcohol for the first time in a year. For Melissa, he had resolved.

Morinna rolled her eyes. "Boring. Well, you'll just have to drink a lot of it, Isaac. We're getting smashed."

"Where did you even get it? You're underage."

"You're underage. I just made the cashier really want to sell it to me," she explained, a mischievous smile on her face. She put the glasses onto the coffee table, pouring a generous serving of whiskey into each of them. "Down the hatch."

Isaac decided far too quickly not to argue, waiting for her to lift up her own glass so that they were in sync. The whiskey slipped down his throat like honey, the way alcohol only could if you had been drinking it like water for months. Heat unfurled in the pit of his stomach, and he was reminded of a lost month in a basement in Cuba.

Morinna was grimacing, half of her drink still in the glass. "I hate whiskey," she groaned, sticking her tongue out.

Isaac gave her a lazy smile. "Why are you drinking it?"

She gave him an even look over the rim of her drink, knocking back the rest of it, her nose wrinkling. "I've had a rough day," she said sardonically, refilling the glasses, even though Isaac had been with her since early morning.

"I'm not sure that just drinking a lot for no reason is going to make you any less bored," he said sagely, thinking that if Scott were here they would be subject to at least a disapproving look if not a lecture on healthy coping mechanisms.

"Shut up, Isaac," she said. "Anyway, we're not doing it for no reason. We're playing a game."

"A game? Doing shots isn't a game, Morinna."

"Yes, Isaac, a game. Didn't you have a childhood?"

Morinna saw him flinch slightly and deliberated for a moment before deciding not to pry. "Ever heard of never have I ever?" she asked, enthusiastic.

"Never have I ever? Is this middle school?"

Morinna shushed him impatiently, pushing his whiskey to his side of the coffee table. "Pick your glass up. I'm trying to get to know you."

Isaac conceded, picking up his drink and watching her expectantly.

"Never have I ever… gotten a tattoo."

Isaac shrugged and took a sip of his drink.

"Well, now you have to show me," Morinna urged, scanning the visible skin of his arms. "I bet it's on your ass. Am I right or am I right?"

"You don't get to ask follow up questions. That's not in the rules," Isaac dismissed her. "Never have I ever gone skinny-dipping."

Morinna didn't drink, smirking triumphantly. "Never have I ever run away from home."

Isaac glared at her, raising the glass to his lips. "Scott told you, then?"

"Scott didn't tell me anything," Morinna said, shifting closer to him with interest. "How old were you?"

"Eighteen," he said shortly. Morinna's eyes widened. "Never have I ever had a bad break up."

Morinna's eyes grew even bigger. She lifted her glass, drinking the whole thing.

"Got you," Isaac whispered competitively, narrowing his eyes. Morinna sneered at him and seized up the bottle of whiskey to repour.

"Never have I ever had a relationship last more than a month."

Isaac contemplated this, holding his whiskey up to the light and staring into it. Finally he took a long sip.

"Never have I ever had a good relationship with my parents," he said quietly.

Morinna's eyelids flickered, and she licked her lips before taking a gulp. Then she cast her eyes down for a second, as if thinking, and finally mumbled "I'm bored of this game."

Isaac shrugged, indifferent, finishing the rest of his drink. "What do you want to do now?"

She looked up at him, biting her lip. Her eyes darted to his mouth.

"Morinna…" he warned, but she closed the gap between them, knotting her hands into his dark curly hair. Isaac put his hands gently on her waist. She smelt intoxicating, like toffee and spent matches, and she was kissing him hard, pressing their foreheads together. She clambered over the couch cushions, swinging a knee over so she was straddling him.

Isaac melted into the kiss, pulling her closer by the hips. It had been an age since he had been kissed, since anybody had touched him like this.

He pulled away.

Morinna blinked at him, two tears streaking down her cheeks. She took a shaky breath, eyes flickering between his lips and eyes.

Isaac gave her a sad little smile, moving his hands to her shoulders.

"You don't want this," he told her delicately, dabbing at the tears with his thumbs.

She sniffed. "Yes, I do," she said, putting her hands on his cheeks. She flexed her hips, grinding against him, and brushed her lips against his. He sighed and clenched his jaw, lifting her up by the waist and putting her back onto the couch next to him.

"No, you don't," he said simply, crossing his arms. "Whatever you're trying to forget, Morinna, this isn't the answer."

She looked down, eyelids fluttering, and then glowered at him, standing up and swiping the bottle of whiskey from the table. Morinna stormed across the apartment and into her bedroom, slamming the door.