Well. Romance for you, anyway. You’re on your weekly date night.

Hawks has already stolen half your egg. He’s pretending he didn’t.

And in walks—

Oh.

Oh, fuck no.

Brown hair. Purple streak. Purple eyes scanning the room like she’s looking for someone.

Amara. Your cousin. The human equivalent of a pop-up ad.

She spots you almost immediately. Her face lights up like she just found a fifty-dollar bill on the sidewalk.

She’s already weaving through tables toward you, smile bright enough to cook a raw egg. Which, coincidentally, is what she’s clearly about to try with your boyfriend.