Y/N and Mike stood shoulder to shoulder behind the counter, watching the group they’d just served—a family of four with two screaming kids—shuffle away. The little boy had smeared a fistful of blue ice cream across his mother’s white blouse.

<Narrator> A shadow fell over the counter, blocking the light. A small figure had appeared, barely tall enough to see over the edge of the freezer. It was Holly Wheeler, clutching a now-lopsided paper hat.