As Ibrahim squatted, Cheryl inquired, “So, Ibrahim.” He flinched, nearly propping back onto his feet but slumped into his seat. “What’s the plan tonight?”

“It’s game night,” Seneca answered. “You wanna join? Ibrahim is DM’ing.” She giggled.

“What’s DM?” Cheryl inquired.

“Dungeon Master––it means he’s telling the story, and we role-play.”

“Oh?” Cheryl sang. “You’re not playing it like last time?”

“Sherry,” Wino whispered. His address warranted discretion. She was toying with fire, and it was Ibrahim to be burned.

Seneca asked, “You played together? You never told me, Ibrahim.” She turned to Cheryl. “What happened last time?”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“He didn’t tell you?” Cheryl asked with piqued interest.

“Sherry,” Wino called with a rising inflection. He glanced pitifully at Ibrahim.

Ibrahim watched them pass the speculative parcel like a criminal caught on film. This wasn’t for Seneca to hear, but Cheryl and her spontaneous courage toiled for some unspoken agenda. To her, Ibrahim toed the line between two worlds––she was right. Now, she sought to sever this interstitial relationship and pursue him into a single camp. He was a magician and deserved treatment as one.

Seneca smiled giddily at Ibrahim, cognizant of an unnerving secret coming to light. “Tell me what, Ibrahim?”

Cheryl’s brows settled as her palms clasped one another. She grinned from ear to ear as she angled towards Ibrahim as well. The spotlight was on him. His lips pursed, retracting into his mouth. He ruffled his robes between his fingers and sought refuge from Wino.

“Either you tell her, or I will,” Cheryl warned.

“That’s enough,” Wino calmly intervened.

Cheryl sat unfettered by Wino’s comment. Her fangs latched onto Ibrahim.

“What is it?” Seneca curiously asked.

“Fine. Senny,” Cheryl started. “There’s something you need to know.”

“Cheryl,” Wino warned.

“What?” Seneca asked.

“Ibrahim is a—”