She stared at the screen. Vision blurring through unshed tears. The message was stark. Her world constricted.

All she could see was Delsadar's towering form and his laughter echoing in her mind. Her hands trembled as she gripped the pad.

Arcanis: How?

A pause stretched out. Heavy and suffocating.

Piopei: Undersea Caverns. Fourth boss. Naga Queen's Protectors phase.

Lucy knew that fight inside out. High damage for sure but nothing they couldn't handle. With Delsadar tanking and Piopei healing they'd breezed through it before.

Her thoughts fractured as a new message popped up.

Delsadar: ******* lag spike! Fifteen seconds of ******* nothing!

Delsadar: ******* *******! I can’t believe those ******* ******* ******* useless ******* lag spike.

The profanity was masked by stars by the content filter, but his frustration was palpable.

She exhaled sharply. The fog lifting slightly.

Hard to mourn a man who's cursing up a storm right beside you.

Anyway, suddenly noticing that Ceri had placed the profanity filter on their back-channel for the sake of Arcanis was a moment of pure laugh-out-loud joy amid the bleakness. She chuckled. Her emotions seesawing.

Her knees throbbed; she hadn't realised she'd sunk to the concrete floor so hard. Rising gracefully she moved to the fridge retrieving ice for the inevitable bruises.

Lethanda: I'm so sorry. Wish I'd been there to help.

Piopei: Nothing anyone could've done. We all lagged out. Fifteen seconds frozen then bam—Delsadar’s taken massive damage. Rest of us bailed.

Arcanis: That's brutal. We should hit up a GM. Get this fixed.

Ceri: Not on hardcore servers. It's all in the EULA we didn't read. Dead is dead. Lag included.

Arcanis: That's messed up! Total dev abuse!

Piopei: She's right. No do-overs here.

Delsadar: This is ********! ******** dev’s and ******** lag. ******** ********.

Lucy felt the weight of it. The harsh reality of hardcore realms. No second chances. But they'd all chosen this path.

It made every breath sweeter; every fight more intense.

Lethanda: Absolutely gutted for you Delsadar. So, so sorry my friend.

Delsadar: Thanks. Over 200 hours down the drain. Months gone. Gonna miss being him.

Ceri: This isn't the end. We're a guild. We'll back you whatever you roll-up next.

Delsadar: It's more than that. I'm so far behind now. Limited playtime as it is.

Lucy was suddenly afraid. Would they be losing Delsadar all over again?

Piopei: What if we share your account? I'm online a lot. I could help grind out some quests for you and get you levelled up in no time. Happy to commit three or so hours a day till you’re back on your feet.

Lucy grimaced. Account-sharing. The idea of someone else piloting Lethanda made her skin crawl. But despite that, Piopei’s swift suggestion was a welcome one. The specialised healer clearly wanted his ‘best bud’ tanking partner back as soon as possible. She couldn’t blame him, the rest of the guilds tank’s weren’t on the same level as Delsadar.

Ceri: I'm in. I can put in a few hours daily to help you catch up.

Delsadar’s new character would fly through the levels being handled by experienced players like Ceri and Piopei, Lucy thought.

Arcanis: Can't promise much time but I'll assist however I can. Maybe clear tough zones with you.

Lethanda: I'll help too. We'll get you back on your feet.

There was a pause.

Delsadar: You guys... Thank you. Delsadar might be gone - but this friendship isn't.

Lucy thought of Druath. If they'd had this connection outside the game maybe things would've been different.

Ceri: Let's honour Delsadar properly. Guild event. Get everyone together to celebrate him.

Delsadar: Taking down that ******* Naga Queen would be a start.

Laughter bubbled through the chat.

Arcanis: Poetic justice. I'm in.

Piopei: Let's do it.

Lethanda: Agreed. For Delsadar.

Ceri: It's settled. We'll rally the Guild and plan the assault on the Naga Queen and her Protectors.

Lucy's fingers hovered over the keys. Despite the sorrow, the ripsaw of emotions she’s been on the last fifteen minutes or so, a warmth spread through her. They weren't just players; they were a team, a crew.

Back at the screen. Messages poured back and forth as the guild event plans quickly took shape.

*

The air was crisp atop the Spine Mountains. The scent of pine mingling with the cool whispers of the evening breeze. Lethanda sat in a verdant clearing. Her fingers lightly tracing the soft petals of wildflowers that dotted the grass.

The sky stretched out before her. A tapestry of deep purples and golds. The sun dipping low and casting a warm glow over the distant Farmlands and the Great Forest beyond.

She closed her eyes. Feeling the gentle caress of the wind against her skin. The taste of the mountain air fresh on her lips. The world felt alive here—every rustling leaf and distant birdcall a symphony that resonated within her.

It had been a good day she decided. An excellent day for the guild.

Her thoughts drifted back to the morning's events. The Fellowship of Aletra had gathered to honour the memory of their fallen warrior Delsadar.

In their roleplay lore they had woven he had perished at the hands of the malevolent Naga Queen who wielded forbidden magics condemned by the gods themselves to bring about his death. Their quest for retribution had been both a tribute and a rallying cry.

For two hours the guild had delved into the Caverns. Splitting into teams of five to see who could defeat the Naga Queen the fastest.

Though Lethanda's team hadn't claimed victory, the camaraderie and fierce determination shared among them had been invigorating. She smiled recalling the spirited exchanges with newer guild members she'd barely known before today.

The scent of wild thyme brought her back to the present. She opened her eyes gazing out at the vast expanse below. The Farmlands spread like a patchwork. Quilt fields of amber and green stretching toward the horizon. The Great Forest stood as a dark emerald sea its canopy whispering secrets she longed to uncover.

“What a spot,” she mused.

After the event they'd all returned on their mounts to the game's starting area. There they'd welcomed their newest Guild member - Delsadar's new incarnation; Kurgrim Bloodaxe, a stout Dwarf Shield-Warrior.

Lethanda chuckled softly. Of course he chose the class renowned for its unparalleled ability to hold aggro. Delsadar did love being at the heart of the fray.

Ceri had led a touching ceremony. Kurgrim pledged his axe and eternal service to the Guild. Ceri vowed the Fellowship of Aletra’s unwavering support in return. The formalities had an old-world charm and everyone had played their parts well.

Lethanda had cried a little.

Knowing that Ceri and Piopei planned to ferociously power-level this avatar over the next two weeks made it all the more endearing too.

A soft purr drew her attention. Her new mighty mount—a sleek magnificent cat with fur that shimmered like silver in the fading light—lounged nearby.

Ceri's laughter rang out like a melody.

"You know," Ceri teased her eyes sparkling. "I think you got that beast just so you could rub its belly."

Lethanda grinned a playful glint in her eye. "Can you blame me? Look at him. He's irresistible."

They both laughed. The sound blending with the rustle of the leaves.

Ceri had outdone herself laying out a lavish banquet. Quite literally fit for a full raid party. Platters of succulent meats fresh fruits glistening with dew and flasks of honeyed mead were artfully arranged on a richly woven blanket. The aromas were intoxicating—spiced cider warm bread and the faint hint of lavender.

As Lethanda took in the scene. A realisation settled over her. This wasn't just a friendly gathering between two friends, a post guild-event chat time.

This was a date.

A picnic beneath the twilight sky.

Ceri settled beside her, gaze soft. "It's beautiful up here isn't it?"

"Stunning," Lethanda agreed, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't even know this place existed."

"Not many do," Ceri replied. "It's a hidden gem. I thought it'd be nice for us to have a place that's just... ours."

Warmth spread through Lethanda's chest. "I'm glad you brought me here."

Ceri reached out her fingers brushing against Lethanda's hand. Her touch was warm - sending a gentle thrill up her arm.

"I've been meaning to tell you," Ceri began her tone earnest. "I'm so proud of everything we've accomplished together. The Guild. The adventures... You've become such an important part of my life."

Lethanda felt a flutter in her stomach. "I feel the same way. Meeting all of you—it changed things for me. Gave me confidence I didn't know I had. I've never been great at making friends," she admitted, her gaze dropping to their entwined fingers.

Ceri's thumb traced soothing circles on the back of her hand. "Well you've got one now. A very grateful one."

Silence enveloped them comfortable and filled with unspoken words. Lethanda's heart raced. She was acutely aware of the softness of Ceri's hand. The way the fading light cast a golden halo around her.

She wanted to close the distance between them. To express the myriad emotions swirling within her. But uncertainty held her back.

Ceri's eyes met hers. A question lingering there. Then with a gentle smile she leaned in.

Their lips almost met in a tender kiss. The game stopped them an inch apart. It didn't transmit any sensation whatsoever– player-on-player near contact in that area created a void sensation zone for both players momentarily – not even their breath registered. Despite all this, Lethanda's heart soared. The absence of physical feeling didn't diminish the warmth that bloomed within her.

When they parted Ceri's cheeks flushed ever so slightly. "I've been wanting to do that for a while," she confessed a hint of shyness breaking through her usual cheerfulness.

Lethanda's smile was radiant. "So have I."

They sat together as the stars began to emerge. Dots of light piercing the deepening blue. The world around them faded leaving just the two of them wrapped in their shared moment.

"Tell me something," Ceri said softly. "What's your favourite thing about this place?"

Lethanda considered her gaze drifting back to the horizon.

"It's the sense of possibility," she replied. "Up here it feels like anything is achievable. Like the world is vast and full of secrets. Waiting to be discovered."

*

A police detective stood outside her door as Lucy approached. His posture polite. But unmistakably official. No badge in sight. But after spending an hour today with detectives, she knew the type.

She cursed under her breath. The day had started so well.

After Ceri's incredible evening she'd woken with a surge of energy she hadn't felt in years. Not a sexless doll after all she mused—just underappreciated. The kiss she couldn't feel. The hand-holding that sent sparks through her. She'd awakened... Well. Restless. Happy and restless.

But everything had gone downhill from there.

First two messages in a row. Lioncourt, ever the gentleman, with his faux-French charm invited her out tonight if she wasn't busy. He’d given her an easy out which she appreciated. But maybe dancing would help burn off some of this excess energy she’d decided. EchoChamber at 10 p.m. Reserved booth. Her name on the list.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Of course he'd get a reserved booth. Another power play. She’d sent back her acceptance.

Her thoughts snapped back to the present. She had a choice: turn around or face this head-on.

Lethanda never shied away. Neither would she. Damn it. Let's get this over with.

She strode up to the detective projecting a confidence she didn't entirely feel. The day had been long.

He introduced himself. "Detective Anderton. John Anderton." Polite formal. He presented his badge slowly giving her ample time to inspect it.

She noticed his deliberate movements—the way he drew out his badge. Had turned toward her with exaggerated care. He looked fit and healthy enough. Is he ill? Was he trying not to spook her?

"You're Lucy Kellaway?"

"That's me." She sighed, fatigue seeping into her voice. "This about those three street gangers I claimed on earlier? I've told the other officers everything I know."

His eyes widened slightly at her casual mention of killings. "No," he replied. "It's about your fourteen claims the other night." He glanced around the empty hallway appearing nervous. "Would you prefer to talk inside?"

She considered him for a moment. He waited patiently. With a silent command to her neural link she unlocked the door and gestured him in.

He hesitated. Then stepped inside. A flicker of curiosity crossing his face as he took in the cramped space.

Lucy entered behind him. Shrugging off her dirty armoured coat. More repairs needed. At least there were no bullet holes this time—just tears and grime. The scent of hot cordite and sweat clung to her. She caught a whiff and grimaced.

Not the day of pampering herself for a night-out as she’d imagined.

After Lioncourt's message had arrived she'd showered. But halfway through Aurum had pinged with an urgent transit job. Immediate priority.

That's when the day truly soured.

Aurum warned the pickup site was compromised—approach stealthily. She wasn't a ninja, had no training, but done her best to sensibly avoid cameras. Kept a low profile. Met a scruffy guy with a large backpack in an apartment block. Left via jumping between building fire escapes.

All for nothing. Five minutes later a car jumped the curb. Aiming straight for her.

Three gangers piled out weapons in hand. They hadn't expected her response.

She’d moved as soon as the car had cleared the curb—dodging, drawing, firing before the sedan had fully stopped. Her SIG's rounds punched through metal and engine block finding flesh.

One tried to hide behind the car door firing back. Amateur. Car doors weren't cover. Hollywood lied. Her bullets shredded through. Tearing into him as if the barrier were paper.

She'd emptied the full clip—fifteen rounds of calculated chaos.

Two of them had bounties. Decent payouts. The third didn't.

She'd waited ten minutes for the cops. Spent forty more explaining. Worried they'd question the contents of her delivery bag. Or how her bullets pierced steel and engines.

They hadn't. Maybe this detective was here to change that.

Grounding herself from her musings about her awful day, she noticed Anderton scanning her apartment. His gaze lingered on her makeshift barricade carefully laid out in assembly order. The room was sparse but now had touches of personal flair—the pull-up bar. Neatly arranged gun cleaning kit for the range. Her gaming headset lay on the bed.

The subtle scent of vanilla and strawberries hung in the air. Better than gunpowder.

She closed the door with a thought. "So what's this about Detective?" She noted his slow movements again.

"Those fourteen bodies from the other night," he began. "I'm here to verify your claims. It's outside your usual claim profile and the system flagged it for a follow-up."

At least she'd ditched the mask before reaching home.

She contemplated her response. Ceri flashed in her mind—her effortless charm.

Lucy admired that in people. Ceri. Aurum. Lioncourt. All different styles of charm that she recognised. But that wasn't her. She was blunt. Direct. Social cues just eluded her. Her childhood was spent failing to grasp the basics that others seemed to grip immediately. Feeling socially inadequate had become normal. Even expected somewhat on meeting new people.

"Stepping up my game," she said finally. "Saving for a new apartment. Started with two, then fourteen, now another three today." She met his gaze steadily. "Need a few more if I want a nice place."

She tried to channel a bit of Lioncourt's nonchalance. "Got some new enhancements recently. They've been helpful." She wondered what slick line Lioncourt would drop in French right now. She could mimic his detachment. But not his finesse.

"Of course!" Anderton replied, a bit too brightly. "The city and the department appreciate your efforts." He paused. "May I see the weapon you used for the fourteen claims?"

Slowly she drew her old nine-millimeter from her leg holster. Holding it out for inspection but keeping a firm grip.

"You have two guns," he noted, stating the obvious. His tone overly cheerful. He seemed to register the fluidity of her movements. "Smart. I see—a standard 9mm." He nodded awkwardly. "Well, everything appears to be in order."

He backed toward the door. "Thank you for your time. Sorry to have bothered you."

He said more, but Lucy zoned out trying to read his reactions and attitude.

Was this a set-up? A game? She was confused. It shouldn’t be this easy. There’s absolutely no way a police detective would breezily accept over fourteen kills like this. Especially with such a cursory inspection of her weapon and such a thread-bare explanation.

She’d prepared a full story. Recited it. Practiced. Explanations of why there were different calibre bullets in each bounty target. An hour had been spent with an AI chatbot that thought it was helping with a film script. Crafting and constructing layers of lies to tell.

He left his card. Uttered, politely, more of the city’s thanks for her efforts.

She watched him leave. The door clicking shut behind him.

Had she missed something? Was this a trap? Was a police Special Weapons and Tactics team about to burst down her door?

Then it hit her—the exaggerated movements. The overly polite demeanour. His reactions when she mentioned enhancements.

He simply, what? Thought she was some kind of cold-blooded killer? He’d thought her story had checked-out?

Lucy didn't know whether to laugh or cry. That could just be a perception. She couldn’t fully process the encounter or understand it. It seemed truly surreal. Like a bad vid comedy’s joke that she couldn’t follow. Maybe Aurum was worth getting an opinion from.

She sank onto the edge of her bed. The day's events crashing over her.

After a moment she began to slowly unlace her boots. Each motion practised and deliberate. Finding some mental order in the routine to settle herself.

She needed another shower. Maybe this time she'd get to finish it.

*

She'd bought a dress.

Lucy wasn't one to fuss over clothes. But tonight was different. She refused to show up at one of downtown's premier clubs in slacks and a t-shirt. Labels annoyed her—people loved putting others in boxes. Her gay tag had altered too many relationships. She just wanted to be Lucy. Practical to a fault she'd just never seen the point in dressing up without reason.

But picking a dress and doing makeup weren't her strengths. Thankfully Downtown 2083 had options. The Transit gig's payout helped too. Thrifty by nature she allowed herself this splurge—a little black dress. Nice heels. An hour with someone who knew the importance of de-fuzzing and proper makeup techniques.

She'd even taken an Exec taxi. The driver opening the door for her. A luxury ride to the corporate heart of the city. Where policing mattered. Security cameras watched every corner. Response times were swift.

Neon lights reflected off melting snow.

She walked to the entrance. For once in her life stepping into the VIP lane. Her name was on the list just as Lioncourt had promised. Third floor, booths two and three. Two booths—it must've cost a fortune.

Inside the club pulsed with a steady hum. The sway of dancing bodies greeted her. Not a silent nightclub—those always felt eerie. Instead a sensible background beat allowed for conversation without overpowering the senses.

Four DJs occupied booths around the bustling dance floor. Each syncing different rhythms to coloured lights. Dancers tuned in via neural links. Their movements casting hues that merged and shifted. Blue dominated now but soon another colour would take over. Lucy found the patterns fascinating.

But she was always on time.

Ascending to the third floor she spotted Lioncourt's party. He was deep in conversation with a pretty young woman. Upon seeing Lucy he immediately ended his chat much to the woman's clear annoyance.

"Leth," he exclaimed his accent thick. "Mon amie gracieuse ma belle surprise!"

Lucy raised an eyebrow. He'd never seen her face and, as yet, hadn't heard her speak. He was guessing.

She scanned the group—about twelve people laughing and drinking. One figure stood apart leaning over the railing eyes fixed on the dancers below.

“How could I refuse when Aurum has already warned me off?” She dared. “Apparently I’m a present for someone else.”

Lioncourt feigned injury at her scepticism. "Oh you wound me! Is it so hard to believe I wish to bring joie et compagnie to those around me?" He laced his words with charm and French flourishes.

He laughed leading her to the booth. "Everyone this is Leth."

He didn't bother with introductions for the others. She saw them for what they were—hangers-on. If he didn't name them, they weren't important to him.

He's lonely, she thought.

He poured her a glass from a chilled bottle. The bubbles gave it away—French champagne naturally.

She noted the four bottles spread across the tables of the private booths. Now she understood why he would casually eliminate seventeen people on an evening walk out. Money flowed through Lioncourt like water. Perhaps his claims of altruism masked his own indulgences.

She took a sip. Lioncourt wasted no time wrapping her in eloquent phrases. His charm in full effect. But she noticed he was steering her toward the woman by the railing.

He's smart. But not as subtle as he thinks.

"Leth, allow me to introduce Siege Perilous," he said, pronouncing ‘Siege’ with a French lilt. Sedge? Syezh? Lucy decided not to ask. The AI chatbot has already been useful in tracking down what the weird name referred to anyway.

The woman turned. Short—barely five feet. Late twenties at most. Dressed in rock-chic attire with straight black hair that seemed out of place here, yet perfectly suited to her. Her eyes flicked to Lioncourt.

"What are you up to - old man?" she asked, though she nodded politely to Lucy.

Lioncourt clutched his chest theatrically. "Old man? You wound me again! If you'll excuse me, Je dois m'occuper de mon cœur brisé." He slipped away, tossing in a few French curse words for effect.

Left alone. Lucy glanced at Peril. "He lacks subtlety doesn't he?"

Peril thought for a moment. Words catching. "Sorry about... that. He keeps trying to set me up on blind dates. Thinks I need company." She stumbled slightly, then sighed. "I'm not great with filters."

She looked at Lucy, eyes sincere. "Though he's never picked someone so... hot before."

Lucy felt a rare warmth. "Thanks."

Peril seemed to relax a bit. They stood side by side watching the crowd below.

"Why do you call him old man?" Lucy asked.

Peril smiled slyly. "Why not? The old pervert's pushing sixty-five."

Lucy looked over at Lioncourt effortlessly charming another woman. He didn't look a day over thirty-five.

Catching her expression, Peril chuckled. "Pulled his military jacket. Active since the late '30s. Did a thirty-year stint—mostly redacted spec ops."

Peril suddenly burst into laughter. A genuine uncontrolled joy. "You two have that in common," she managed between giggles.

Lucy was puzzled. But found herself smiling. "I'm not military. You must have me confused."

Peril composed herself still grinning. "Well you are now."

"I don't follow."

Peril's gaze softened. "How'd your chat with the cop go this afternoon?"

Lucy's heart skipped. The implications were staggering. Peril knew about the detective's visit? Possibly knew where she lived?

Peril noticed her tension. "Did I overstep? I'm sorry. Lioncourt asked me to make sure you didn't get in trouble for... well his fault. So I... helped."

Keeping her voice steady Lucy pressed on. "Lioncourt asked you? But how did he know where I live?"

Peril waved a hand dismissively. "Tracking you through the police database was easy."

Lucy sipped her champagne to mask her shock. Peril had breached the supposedly super-secure bounty hunter database with ease. She understated her abilities to an alarming degree.

"What did you do?" Lucy asked calmly.

Peril hesitated. Eyes dropping. "I didn't alter anything major. Just made the last five years of your file appear as redacted military service. It's a visual glitch—nothing actually changed. But anyone looking probably thinks you were military spec ops or in a corpo black unit, or something."

Understanding washed over Lucy. The detective's cautious demeanour made sense now. He’d seen her as an ex-military operative. A trained killer.

Peril looked close to tears. "Are you mad? I didn't mean any harm."

Lucy felt a surge of empathy. Peril was brilliant. But vulnerable. Wearing her emotions openly.

"It's okay," Lucy assured her gently. "You helped me out. Thank you."

Peril's face brightened. She gazed down at the dancers. "I like dancing. Do you dance?"

The conversation had flipped completely, Lucy smiled softly at the twist. "I haven't in years. But I'd love to." She owed Peril that much.

Peril's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Really."

Peril reached out her hand. Hovering uncertainly before lightly touching Lucy's arm. "Come on then."

They made their way to the dance floor. The crowd parted subtly as they stepped into the pulsating lights. Peril moved with an unrestrained joy. Her awkwardness melting away.

Lucy found herself matching Peril's rhythm. Her own movements were fluid and precise—the enhancements lending her an effortless grace. The music thrummed through her. For once, she let go.

Peril laughed. A sound that cut through the noise - pure and unguarded. "You're good at this," she said, spinning close.

They danced song after song. The world narrowing to just the two of them amidst the swirling colours.

Hours passed. They alternated through various DJ’s together. Some brought them close, some had them rocking out.

Their dancing grew nearer. They touched. Hands on shoulders. Hips. Hands clasped.

After what seemed like many hours, they retreated to a quieter corner. Peril's cheeks were flushed. Her eyes shining and intensely locked on Lucy.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I don't... get to do this often."

"Neither do I."

Peril fiddled nervously with a silver pendant around her neck. "People usually don't... stick around once they get to know me."

"Why's that?" Honesty seemed like the best approach here to Lucy.

She shrugged. "I'm... different. Don't fit in well."

Lucy met her gaze. "Different isn't bad." Peril had drawn close now. They were talking mere inches apart. Peril’s breath on her cheek as she talked.

Peril smiled tentatively. "You're not like most people." Her arms where now around Lucy’s waist and lower back as she gently swayed to the music.

"Neither are you," Lucy swayed with Peril, hooking her arms around her. They grew closer.

A comfortable silence settled between them. The club's energy pulsed, but they were in their own bubble.

Lioncourt smoothly walked up, a playful smirk on his face. "Ah Mesdemoiselles, enjoying yourselves?"

Peril rolled her eyes affectionately. "Go away old man." She didn’t let go. Nor seem embarrassed.

He chuckled. "Je voulais juste prendre de tes nouvelles.” He glanced at Lucy. "I trust you're finding the evening agreeable?"

She gave a small nod. "More than." Damn him, just go. Go away. Charming gentlemen don’t interrupt women who were just about to kiss.

He bowed slightly and retreated. "Excellent. I'll leave you to it." The bastard seemed genuinely delighted, Lucy thought. Dirty old pervert – maybe Peril was right.

As he walked away, Peril leaned in conspiratorially and whispered in Lucy’s ear. "He means well. In his own meddling way." Her breath felt warm.

"I can see that."

Peril took a deep breath. She was uncertain for a moment. As if picking words very carefully from a script. Then she just decided to come out with it. "Would you like to... maybe come back to my place for a coffee?”

Lucy suddenly knew why Aurum was so fatherly and protective. Peril’s heart-on-her-sleeve approach probably had led her into a number of bad choices and decisions with people who had abused that trust over the years.

Despite that warning prang, Lucy felt a genuine smile spread across her face. "I'd like that."

"Great." Peril looked relieved, and excited. Then she blurted out, “Though I really don’t want coffee.” She planted a hot kiss on Lucy’s lips, arms wrapping around her.