When you’re a shape-shifting possum who just witnessed a mafia hit, your options are play dead, run for your life, or become the world’s first hit-possum. I went with all three. When I saw the mafia whack a guy in the alley behind my coffee shop, I did what any sensible girl with a marsupial side would do—I ran, shifted into a possum, and dropped dead at the end of the alley. The hitmen bought it. As far as they knew, I'd simply disappeared into the night. I thought I was safe. Then they sent Kai. The thing about Kai? He’s not just a hitman. He’s the hitman—the kind who can kill a guy with a paperclip and still look good doing it. When he found my empty cabin, he decided to make himself at home. So, I stayed in possum form and did my best to make his life miserable. I chewed his shoelaces, raided his snacks, and gave him the I’m watching you stare from the shadows. It was all going great—until I shifted back into a very naked, very human version of myself at the absolute worst time. Now I’m tied to a chair, facing the smuggest hitman alive, and instead of killing me, Kai makes me an I become his possum in crime, sneaking into places he can’t and using my marsupial skills for illegal gain. I’m talking vent crawling, playing dead on command, and, yes, biting people if necessary. Sure, it’s a morally questionable career path, but I’ve got to admit—it’s kind of fun. The only problem? I’m starting to like the guy who was supposed to put me six feet under. When your survival strategy involves being a tiny chaos demon for a hitman, there’s only one Don’t get caught. Or, you know, do—because sometimes being tied up isn’t the worst thing that could happen. Playing Dead is a darker PNR rom-com standalone with an awkward, possum-shifter barista and a hitman whose sense of humor borders on insanity and who uses food for questionable bedroom activities. You've been warned.