*Ugh... what the hell happened...?* Nick’s mind wandered, feeling like a slurry of a drug-induced haze. Wait, why is everything dark? He tried to backtrack his thoughts, piecing everything together through the fog—like chugging a bottle of Jack Daniels, then trying to run an Olympic gauntlet.

  He’d actually attempted that once, on a drunken dare after graduating basic training, only to fail spectacularly—so spectacularly that he earned the silent respect of his teammates, who quietly agreed never to test Nick on a dare again. Especially after the drill sergeant found him hanging upside down, foot tangled in the cargo net beside the climbing wall on the field track.

  Nick feigned ignorance, claiming he was just having trouble sleeping and wanted to try a new position.

  That earned him a week of push-ups and laps while the rest of the crew went on leave. Nick didn’t mind. It was his fault for drinking that much.

  Very slowly, and blurry-eyed, he saw a small, dim light. The closer he got, the more familiar it became.

  The smell hammered the feeling home—the dry, musty scent of hay and motor oil from the barn.

  As he walked through the open barn door, he saw his dad’s old car.

  In the distance, a DJ’s voice drifted by, mentioning the weather and the time before playing the next record someone had requested.

  Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven softly poured out from the old FM radio sitting atop a long toolbox against the wall.

  He heard the *click-click-click-click* of someone using a ratchet under the raised hood of his car, and then he realized—the car was backed in.

  *Wait... I didn’t back the car in when I got home... Who’s there?" The hood flipped toward Nick, obscuring the figure working in that space. Instinctively, he reached for his shoulder holster—but it wasn’t there.

  “Hey, can you hand me the 12mm, please?” A familiar voice called from behind the hood. Skeptical, Nick moved toward the toolbox. Before his hand reached the drawer handle, he heard the voice call out without turning around:

  “It’s in the second drawer, left-hand side.”

  “Wait, how’d—” Nick froze, his hand pausing on the drawer handle of the box. Slowly, he looked over his shoulder.

  The figure stood with his back to the car, wiping his hands with a faded red rag. He wore a nicely pressed blue suit—the very same suit Nick’s dad had worn the day he left for New York. The last day Nick saw him alive.

  “Hey Nick—it’s been a while...”

  “Dad?” Nick choked out, practically in tears as he dashed forward and wrapped his arms around his father in a bear hug. His dad hugged him back just as hard.

  “Missed you, kid... Well, you’re not a kid anymore...” His dad said as he released his son, stepping back and giving him a good once-over. He rested a hand on his side, his suit jacket opening slightly, revealing Nick’s missing 1911 and shoulder holster.

  “You’ve grown up to quite a man,” his dad said, tossing the faded rag onto the car as he walked to his tool chest and retrieved two fold-out lawn chairs from the wall of the barn, setting them out. He turned to the cabinet above his toolbox, opened it to reveal an old Sears and Roebuck mini fridge, and grabbed a couple of beers. He popped them open and offered one to Nick. They both sat down and took shallow swigs.

  “So, how’ve you been? Where’s Mom?” Nick asked. His dad took a swig, reached into his pocket, pulling out two cigarettes, offering one to his son, then fumbled for his lighter, lighting it for him before lighting his own. He took a slow, relaxing drag, looking back at his son.

  “You know, your mom always said these things would be the death of me...” He took another drag and exhaled. “Now I have the rest of eternity to tell her she was wrong for once,” he said with a grin that looked just like Nick’s.

  “Now you know that ain’t right.” Nick chuckled at the horrible joke.

  “Dead man’s rights, I can joke about it if I want.” His dad poked back.

  “As far as Mom goes, she wanted us to have some one-on-one guy time. Said she loves you, proud of you. I’m proud of you, by the way. Wish you’d have stayed home instead of overseas, but I’m proud of the man you’ve become.”

  “Nice way to go out, by the way.” His dad said dryly, taking another swig. Nick looked at him, slightly surprised.

  “So, I’m dead?” Nick asked, somewhat shocked—though he was drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette with his late dad, who’d died over fifteen years ago.

  “Very much so. Nicely done, too. Not many men can say they were crushed to death by a giant ass while being smothered by the world’s largest breast,” his dad replied, clinking his beer bottle against Nick’s unmoving one.

  Nick was too stunned to move.

  “Wait... you saw that? So it wasn’t a dream... Oh—no... did Mom see that too?” He sat for a moment, staring at his beer. Then another thought crossed his mind. Tiff.

  “Don’t worry—she stopped watching when your friend snuck into your room...” Nick glared at his dad.

  “Wait... so you watched the whole time?” Nick asked glairing at his dad.

  His dad took a puff from his cigarette and raised his beer in a cheers gesture.

  “Wouldn’t’ve missed it for the world,” he said with a wink. “Gotta admit, the end result was a little... different than I expected. FYI, your mom doesn’t know how you died, but she did say she better get some grandbabies out of this.” He grinned and took another swig.

  “Well, sorry to disappoint—but I’m kinda dead. Unless I missed a detail.”

  “True,” his dad replied, tilting the bottle back and finishing it off. He did the same with his cigarette, then casually got up. He set the empty bottle on the toolbox tabletop and grabbed the old candy dish–turned–ashtray—normally kept on the kitchen table—from beside the empty beer bottle. He stubbed out his cigarette and handed the dish to Nick to do the same, then placed it back on the inlaid wooden counter of the toolbox.

  He reached down, holding out his hand to his son, and pulled him up out of the chair.

  “Now you’ve got a broken heart to mend and a job to do. It was good seeing you again. Oh—and thanks for taking care of my car. I loved that thing almost as much as your mom,” he said, patting the old Datsun. Then he leaned in close to Nick. “Don’t tell your mom I said that,” he added with a grin.

  “I think she already knew, Dad.”

  “You’re probably right. Like I said, you’ve got more things to take care of.” He gave Nick another hug, then let go.

  “Try not to die before your time next go-around, champ.” He stuck out his hand. Nick took it and shook. His dad held firm—his hand felt warm... tingling.

  “Remember, son: don’t change. You’re doing fine. Take care of that girl waiting for you... and most importantly...” He pulled Nick in close. “Mom said she wants grandbabies,” he said with a mischievous grin and a wink.

  “Wait... what?”

  “You heard me—CLEAR!”

  *BZZZZZZRRHHH!*

  “Whaaa—Aaaahh!” Nick’s whole body lit up. He gasped, feeling like he was drowning in a cold abyss, suddenly receiving oxygen for the first time in ages.

  “So if he dies, can I have his stuff?” Nick heard faint voices—some he recognized, some he didn’t. He still couldn’t see or feel anything, like he was bound and locked in a box.

  “You—Madam—are a despicable construct... go make yourself useful and tend to your delivery route you signed up for.”

  “But I don’t have to log in for a couple more hours...” Nick recognized Jarvis and Glitchet’s voices as they squabbled—one trying to calm the situation, the other rooting for his demise.

  *Why would a bot or AI even need MY stuff?* Nick thought, unamused.

  “We have a pulse! Hit him again!”

  “Awwww... dammit.”

  “Glitchet!!” Both Tiffany and Jarvis’s voices chimed in unison.

  “Fine, fine. I get the hint...” There was silence for a moment.

  “Can I have his CD collection?” *Really, Glitchet?* he thought.

  “Out!!!” Jarvis and Tiffany shouted over the hustle and bustle.

  “Uuuggghhhh... Fine... you two are the absolute worst sticks in the butt, and I hope every one of the cd's permanently skip at all the best parts.”

  “Clear!” *BRRRZZZZZZHHH—THUMP!*

  “Niiick! Come back, Nick!” He heard Tiffany crying, hysterical.

  A smidgen of him felt bad for her, but in his mind, he was smiling ear to ear—happy to hear she wanted him back, broken up over everything. Part of his narcissistic side whispered she deserved it for what happened, which he promptly booted out. The other part knew it wasn’t her fault.

  Beneath it all—a mixture of sadness, relief, and yearning—he genuinely missed her.

  “Someone get her out of here! Come on, one more time—Clear!”

  *Beeeeeeeeep—beep... beep... beep... beep...*

  “All right, we’ve got a pulse. Get him loaded up and in a cryo box—stat!”

  *Uggghh—such a pain... keep it down already...zzz*

  ***Much Later***

  *...I hear voices... Tiff...? Other people also...*

  Nick groggily faded in and out of consciousness. At times, he felt what he assumed was Tiffany’s hand—soft, leathery palms, coarse fur mixed with downy. Other times, he was almost certain it was… well, unless wherever he was, random people gave wet tongue kisses across the face. He gave a weak smile at the thought—whether that transferred from his mind to his body, he had no idea.

  Then came the cold nose nudges… an unexpected system shock when one wasn’t prepared or able to see it coming.

  Nick finally opened his eyes, lazily glancing around a room he didn’t recognize. White tiled walls lined with unfamiliar equipment made him guess it was some kind of infirmary—not from his small town, nor even a fully funded facility. The bed he lay in was covered up to his chin with a blanket that looked like crinkled aluminum foil, but shimmered and moved like fabric.

  He kept scanning the room, trying to piece together where he was. His eyes drifted to a guest chair in the corner, where a grey, female creature sat in a crisply pressed bluish-grey officer’s uniform. A commandant’s hat perched on her head. One mirror-polished boot was crossed over her knee as she sipped from a mug, reviewing holographic charts projected from a tablet-like device in her other hand.

  Her gold-rimmed obsidian eyes flicked up from the tablet to Nick. She sat up straight, placing her boot on the polished white tile floor.

  “Oh, you’re finally awake. You gave one of our field agents quite a scare,” she said, taking another sip.

  “Would you like some? You’ve been unconscious for a while,” she added, holding up her mug to the new guest.

  He nodded yes, and the commandant turned toward the wall.

  “Serbal, bring our guest a coffee, please.”

  A device that looked like a top-of-the-line Jarvis detached from the wall and hovered through the sliding door. *Thunk—Whoosh—Kathunk.*

  She gracefully stood, set her mug down, and dragged the metal-framed chair over to his bedside.

  “So, you’re the little Lupas heartbreaker I’ve heard so much about,” she said with a small, curt grin. She retrieved her mug, settled into the chair, and removed her hat, respectfully setting it on the windowsill cutout in the wall. Her hand swept through black quills that arched back in place of hair.

  Nick offered a weak smile and closed his eyes for a moment.

  “I didn’t expect such high praise from a captain, ma’am.”

  She nearly spat her coffee but managed to swallow without incident before a small chuckle slipped out.

  “I assure you, I’m no captain. I’m a director. We… share a ship—similar to how your Marines hitch a ride with your Navy.”

  “So… your—Marines?”

  She paused, then gently shook her head. “That may have been a bad comparison. My apologies. Let me introduce myself formally.”

  “Zurii Cringinder, head director of the Galactic Security Administration. We’re not a military division, but many of our agents come from service branches—people who want to help civilians and bring criminals to justice. A pleasure to finally meet you in person, Mr. Dixion.”

  She extended her hand, crisp and professional. Nick returned the gesture, grimacing at the pain.

  “My apologies—you’ll be sore for a while. We didn’t fix you completely, just stabilized you until you regained consciousness.”

  Nick looked at her, confused and a little apprehensive.

  “So the people who can heal incurable ailments decided not to fix broken bones?” he asked, wincing as he used his upper body to drag himself upright. His usual snark still intact.

  Zurii smiled and sipped her coffee.

  *Thunk—Whoosh—Kathunk.*

  The conversation paused as the service droid returned, carrying a generously sized mug on a matching saucer. Packets and a spoon were neatly arranged beside it. The drone hovered toward Zurii, who, mid-sip, eyes closed, pointed her index finger at Nick. It paused, then glided to him, patiently waiting for him to accept the saucer.

  He looked at the odd-smelling brown liquid, eyeing it skeptically. But he graciously accepted anyway. Once he did, the droid floated back to the indentation in the wall and re-docked.

  “Besides,” Zurii said, setting her mug down and retrieving her tablet, “if we fixed you up like new—which we still can—you might be less inclined to accept an alternative offer I’m about to make.”

  Nick inspected the packets, added one to the drink, stirred, and took a sip. The flavor wasn’t bitter or sweet—just a rich, freshly ground coffee taste that helped him relax. He sat forward, both hands wrapped around the mug as he gingerly sipped.

  “Not to be rude, but… how’s Tiffany?” he asked, looking up from his mug.

  Zurii’s rhinestone-shaped brow scales arched as she gave a warm smile, as if his question had led exactly where she wanted to go.

  “To be honest… devastated. After we pried her away from your side, she locked herself in her cabin. It’s been a couple of days now. We did, however, work something out with her. It was her and Alice’s idea—a joint effort to make it work. But I’m getting ahead of myself.”

  “How do you feel about her?”

  The question caught him off guard. He clenched his breath mid-swallow to avoid choking, then looked at Zurii.

  “May I ask why that’s relevant?”

  “Quite a lot, actually. But if you’d prefer, we can talk about something else while you think it over. The other thing I’d like to know is: why did you offer to help her? Or cooperate with us? We never agreed to pay or compensate you—officially, anyway. Yet you’ve been helpful to my agent, accommodating her, assisting her in the field. Why?”

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  Nick thought for a moment, took another sip, and leaned back against the stack of pillows.

  “Because we have the same goals? I was already looking for the missing persons—with no luck, I might add. It’s been a weird roller coaster the past couple of weeks, but she made it feel more like an adventure than a job. She’s a sweetheart—not to mention she’s treated me better than any woman I’ve tried to have a meaningful relationship with.”

  He glanced around the room, then noticed what looked like a fist-sized rock floating lazily past the window. At first, he thought it was the night sky.

  His mug slipped from his hands.

  Zurii’s thin tail shot out, wrapping around the mug before it hit the silver blanket—still sipping her drink as she did.

  “Easy there. Let’s not waste such a tasty beverage. Our replicators work hard to make this stuff.” She said in a joking manner.

  Her tail drifted the mug back to his frozen hands. She tapped his palm with it until he grasped the mug, then unfurled her tail and wrapped it around her peacoat like a belt, accentuating her waist.

  “You were dead. We managed to bring you back, but we had to bring you to the ship to treat you properly. Also—” she gestured around the room like a tour guide showing off a grand hall, “this is our home and our way of travel—the Bismarck. You’re not on Earth anymore. We’re just a short jump from your planet.”

  Nick raised his mug in thanks. The splined tip of her tail unhitched and flicked in his direction, as if to say no problem, while she beamed politely.

  “So what did she tell you so far?” Nick shook his focus from the window to Zurii.

  “Such as?” he asked, not knowing exactly what she was fishing for.

  “Anything really. I was just curious what you talked about—her personal life, job, mission status… Think of me as a curious parent wanting to get to know her date and what they’ve already discussed,” she said, propping a hand against her chin as she grinned at the beet-red man in the bed.

  “Well ma’am, she told me a little about the GSA—that you take care of criminals and black market traders, that we’re trying to find the kidnapped humans the rats are trying to sell. That her grandfather rescued her from slavers, and that was part of what made her want to join—to help others. She chased down a deer and made me breakfast…”

  Zurii’s grey-skinned, rat-like tail unwrapped from her waist, the splined tip slowly and subtly flicking behind her as she leaned in slightly.

  “My—well… she didn’t tell me that part." Nick looked at her curiously.

  “Which part?”

  “She hunted for and cooked for you…? My, this is interesting.” Zurii chuckled, taking another sip.

  Nick looked at her, perplexed, as he absentmindedly fiddled with the spoon in his mug and took another sip.

  “How so? I mean, it was really nice of her… Can’t really say I’ve ever had someone chase down a deer and bring me food before—not to mention cook it for me. That was kind of the cherry on top,” he mumbled into his mug.

  Zurii grinned at him, her chin resting on a propped hand, one almond-shaped obsidian eye half-lidded in thought. The way her molten gold irises shimmered reminded Nick of the lava lamp in his old room—rings of gold swirling and dancing within the black, glass-like depths of her eyes.

  *Sounds like my little one made her decision then. She made him her pack mate. But I wonder… How does he feel about her?*

  “The reason I’m asking all these questions is because you have two decisions to make. One will make it hard on everyone, but we’ll respect your wishes and let you return to your old life…” She leaned back in the chair, her head tilting toward the ceiling like she was counting tiles.

  “The other is that I make you official and sign you on as an assistant field agent. But that’s a sticky situation in itself.”

  “I think I understand where you’re going, but go ahead and explain it anyway, please. How does all this affect how I feel about Tiffany?”

  Zurii sighed as she sat up and scooted the chair closer to Nick’s bedside—close enough that he could smell the coffee and cream on her breath.

  “I can assume you’re aware of the feelings she has for you outside of work?” Nick nodded.

  “She’s been quite smitten with you. So much so, in fact, that—whether consciously or not—she’s claimed you as her husband, in your cultural terms.”

  Nick’s jaw went slack, nearly dropping his coffee mug again. His hands clamped around it quickly before it fell too far.

  “Nice catch… So my predicament is: if you’re not interested in her, I ask that you let her down *gently*. Try to keep it professional, help us find your people so we can leave, and I’ll have a particularly moody and unhappy Lupas on my ship. But—if you are interested in her that way, then I can breathe easy knowing she found someone she can trust. Someone to care for her and keep her steady.”

  She paused, her tail curling slightly around the leg of the chair.

  “She’ll be hurt, but we won’t punish you for honesty. We just ask for grace.”

  “So… which do you choose, Earther—Dixion?”

  He sat staring at his coffee, knowing what he wanted, but weighed down by uncertainty.

  “Ma’am… could I think about it? Also… I’d like to talk to her before I make any decision. If I may… Ms. Cringinder…”

  Her face softened, her obsidian eyes shining brighter than usual—wet. She gave him a curt nod.

  “Honestly, I believe that to be an appropriately acceptable answer. I’d be worried if you answered too hastily either way.”

  Her response seemed to put him at ease—relaxingly so.

  “Ma’am? If I may ask… who are the Dark Ones?”

  Her large almond-shaped eyes comically squinted at him. Her molten golden irises glowed against the obsidian backdrop, completely focused on Nick’s face. The quills on her head stood on end at the mention of the name, the tip of her tail bobbing slightly, the splines furling and unfurling like a thistle flower in bloom.

  “Oh, so she shared that bit of her life also?” Zurii asked—not angry or accusatory, but delicately weighing how to proceed.

  “She told me they wiped out her people… If that’s true… why, ma’am?”

  Zurii sat back with a huff and closed her eyes, taking another sip. The quills on her head flattened as she drank, her mood shifting from alert and agitated to her previous calm.

  “It’s true. They harvested every Lupas across the stars, save a remnant. Her parents were part of that remnant… until poachers and slavers began tracking the Raforus family. Word had spread that they were sheltering a rare pup—painting a target on them above the rest of the Lupas’ dwindling lineage. Their ship hit an ion storm, causing them to crash on planet Theos-179. The slavers tried to take the family alive. When they found it to be a fool’s errand, they changed tactics and slaughtered her mother and father.”

  “Strangely enough… an old friend of mine—from eons past—happened to be living there and rescued the young pup. He dispatched the slavers, though unfortunately not before those beastly blaggards had time to torment the poor soul. I’m just thankful he made it before they had a chance to leave. The ion field that brought down her parents was the very same thing that kept the slavers stranded on the planet,” she said, taking another sip.

  “He contacted me to collect their bounty—the child, Tiffany. At the time, we didn’t know what to do with her. But he ended up falling for the little fluff ball. He figured she’d be safer with him, so he raised her as his own. He was unable to have children, you see… and she gave him something he never thought he’d have. He raised her until she was old enough to decide what she wanted to do with her life. That’s when I was contacted and took over her care.”

  Zurii’s voice softened, her gaze distant.

  “She worked hard. Trained with purpose. All with the hope of stopping people like the ones who killed her parents—so others wouldn’t have to suffer the same fate.”

  “Kind of poetic, if I do say so—the very storm that brought down the family also saved the last remaining heir.”

  Zurii leaned back, her voice calm but edged with memory.

  “As far as the Dark Ones themselves go… they slowly began to disappear. No one’s certain whether they went into hiding or simply died out—perhaps the lack of Lupas to sustain them proved fatal.”

  Nick was laser-focused on the woman and her story, sipping the last of his coffee as he listened.

  “The Dark Ones walk a fine line between the living and the dead. Cloaked things, like the wraiths in your stories—but these aren’t myths. They’re real. They feed on Lupas blood, hoping to prolong their existence. Immortality is their goal, which is laughable, really. Despite the Lupas’ absurd healing factor, their lives are short—much like you humans.”

  She paused, sipping her coffee.

  Nick frowned. “If they heal so well, why doesn’t it stop them from deteriorating and dying of old age?”

  The gold in Zurii’s eyes glinted. “That, my boy… is an excellent question. Scientists are perplexed by it too. The best theory we have is this: their healing factor drains their lifespan. The more they heal, the shorter their life. Eventually, they stop healing—and die rather quickly after that.”

  She noticed the sadness and worry on his face and placed a gentle, grey-scaled hand on his arm. The touch snapped him out of his gloom, his eyes meeting hers—comforting, shifting gold irises.

  “I assure you, even in her line of work…” Zurii glanced off to the side with a slight huff. “Even with the way she charges into danger headfirst, with no regard for herself…” she mumbled, rubbing the ribbed bridge of her nose. “She would still live a relatively long and happy life. Like you, if you so choose.”

  “Relatively? Relative to what?” he asked.

  Zurii scratched the scales above her eyes, pausing in thought. “I suppose it’s not quite fair to put it that way. My people live much longer than most.”

  Nick stared at her, and the words tumbled out—meant as thoughts, but refusing to stay that way.

  “Good lord, how old are you?” he blurted, cringing as he realized it came out loud.

  Zurii, mid-sip, quickly swallowed. Her large almond-shaped eyes widened slightly, then returned to normal. Her cheeks darkened to a shade of black that matched her quills.

  “My… aren’t you a curt one. Has no one told you it’s impolite to ask a lady her age?” She smirked. “But if you must know—I turn two hundred and twelve this cycle. That’s in your Earther years, by the way. So yes, I consider you humans short-lived. We Talai live to a ripe old age of about four hundred to four hundred and fifty. Given that Lupas live anywhere from eighty to ninety years—like humans—I’d say that’s a short lifespan compared to my people… and the Drakens.”

  “Two hundred and twelve? Wow... you really don’t look a day over thirty-five,” Nick sputtered in awe.

  Zurii chuckled, her youthful appearance at odds with the weight of her years.

  “Haha! I’m far from a spawnling. Though flattery will get you nowhere with me, Mr. Dixion. However—I’ll accept your crude compliment. Thank you. But I do believe there’s someone else here who’s far more deserving of your doting.”

  She shifted in her seat, reaching into her coat. “That being said, I’d like to show you what our dear Tiffany donated for you.”

  Zurii pulled out a metal tube with a glass inlay. Its mirror-like shine caught the light, but it was the blackish-red fluid inside that held Nick’s attention—sloshing gently as she held it up and handed it to him.

  “What is this?” he asked, slowly turning the cold tube over in his hand. The fluid swirled, forming tiny air bubbles that rose and settled at the top.

  “I’ll let her tell you,” Zurii said, gently plucking the vial from his hands. “But I will say this—Alice and Tiffany put their heart and soul into it. Tiffany… quite literally did. To make up for the crushed legs and, well—your nether regions.”

  “But—why? Why would anyone go through all this trouble for me?” he asked, watching as she stood and pocketed the vial.

  She turned toward him, offering a small, curt smile.

  “For a detective, you can be quite dense... She loves you, you silly boy. And we... we love our Tiffany. Even when she actually crushes... her crush. That’s why I danced around to find out how you felt about her. Regardless, I’ll be waiting in my office with bated breath for your response—either way—to fill out your papers, for whatever life choice you make.”

  She turned and walked toward the door, still talking without looking back.

  “I think she made a good choice in a partner. I hope you make an equally good choice, Mr. Dixion.”

  *Thunk—Whoosh—*

  A large red figure in a white sundress with yellow flower prints, wearing a wide sun hat with ear cutouts, ducked through the doorway.

  “Oh! Ms. Zurii! I... didn’t expect you to be here!”

  “It’s quite alright, Ms. Rafuros. My... you look ravishing. I’ve never seen you dress so—feminine. It looks good on you.”

  Tiffany flustered and fumbled, words failing to find the correct correlation.

  “Um... thanks, Ms. Cring—Zurii!”

  One of her hands emerged from behind her back, producing a bouquet of synthetic flowers—custom-designed by a friend who worked on the replicator’s programming.

  Zurii saw the flowers and, with practiced ease, broke the awkward tension—her tone warm, her presence steady, never losing her compassionate edge.

  “Oh, well—here. I’ll let you explain the plans and procedure. Give you two some... quiet time.”

  Nick didn’t notice the bouquet. His eyes were locked on the stunning red beauty in the floral-patterned sundress and matching hat.

  “Wow, Tiff... you look amazing.”

  Her already flustered face turned a soft whitish pink. Her gaze jerked back and forth between Nick and Zurii in a comic double take, almost forgetting why she was there in the first place—her brain short-circuited by the awkward moment.

  “Tiff! It’s okay, calm down. You have nothing to be embarrassed about,” Nick said with a suppressed laugh.

  Zurii handed the cylinder to the once-flustered, now calmer wolf, then glanced back at Nick, gave him a wink, and waved without looking back as she left.