On the ceiling, the mold shifted into a design half-decipherable: G O. “Go where?” Angelina said, and pointed. Jagvi’s voice dropped low. “Get out? Is that what it—” But the mold wasn’t done. Curling, languorous letters. G O O D G “I’m feeling targeted,” Angelina said. G O O D G I R L, said the mold on the ceiling. “Let’s try another room,” Jagvi said.
