Riz has tested a lot of things in her career. Shipping foam. Industrial gloves. A self-cooling office chair that, tragically, was neither.

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Underwear, however, is new.

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Threaded with adaptive fibers and classified under three separate security protocols, the prototype does exactly what it promises. It moves with her. It anticipates her. It improves her posture, her outline, her mood, and it does all of this a little sooner than the specifications say it should. By the end of the first fitting, Riz has written a sentence in her private log that she can't unwrite: the garment isn't optimizing for comfort. It's optimizing for compliance.

Then someone starts sitting in the coffee shop across from the lab. Every morning. Same order. Never reading.

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Adaptive Fit follows Riz and her testing partner Cal through the prototype's development, the people who want to steal it, and the far stranger question of what happens when a system built to know you does its job too well. It is a novel about comfort and consent, about being understood by something that cannot choose to forget, and about two skeptical professionals discovering that the most adaptive material in the building might be each other.

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Deadpan, precise, and quietly unnerving, it's speculative fiction for anyone who has ever felt their phone knew what they wanted before they did, and wasn't sure how to feel about it.