She snorts. "Good to know."
Thank God for that," she mutters and pushes away from the bar. "I'm going to pee."
You watch as she walks off through the crowd... decidedly not in the direction of the bathroom. Instead, it looks like she's heading for the exit.
She stops and turns around. "Why?"
You shrug. "It's good seeing you, knowing you're alright."
She glares at you, eyes as cold as steel... but also confused, conflicted.
Then, without a word, she turns and marches out the door, vanishing from the room. You lean against the bar and sigh. So much for that.
"Hello."
You turn. A girl is standing beside you. She is a few years older than Izzie, with large dark eyes, a lopsided fringe, and — most worryingly of all — a notepad with pencil poised and ready to go.
"Eh..."
"What's your name? You don't look like the other people in your pack. Did you marry someone in the pack? Who did you marry? What's their name?"
"I—"
"My dad married into our pack," she continues. "That's why he looks so weird. You don't look weird through. You look nice. You smell nice too."
Well, this conversation went from strange to really fucking strange at approximately Mach seven.
"Um. I'm sorry," you say. "Your name is...?"
"Hani." A low, deep voice fills the air.
The girl jumps and quickly hides her notebook behind her back.
"What did I tell you about doing interviews?"
"I wasn't!"
"Give me that."
"But Daaaaaaad..."
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