They both enjoy a spirited ride through the backroads that tie into the side entrance of Frank's, pulling up by the door to park.

  “Any special requests, ma’am?” He asks as he hangs his helmet on the mirror as he gets off the bike.

  “I’ll have what you’re having, as long as it’s cooked no more than medium rare, and I am pretty hungry too, so please keep that in mind.”

  He keeps that last part in mind and goes in to order the food. A few minutes later, he comes out with a big brown bag full of fries and six double cheeseburgers (this sure does seem like a lot of food. Well, if it’s too much, I can always put it in the fridge for later).

  “Got the food. Hold still, and I’ll put it in the shoulder bag.”

  She complies, staying still while he fumbles with the zipper and secures the food. He fills up the bike before they leave, making tracks back to Nick's cottage.

  When they finally return, they park in the barn and head into the house. Nick hangs his belongings on the hooks by the door, and they both move to the dining room table to set the food out.

  “Do you mind if I shower before we eat?” Tiffany asks.

  "By all means—please. I could smell wet dog from outside, if you catch my drift," Nick replied bluntly, his face marked by a flat, exhausted look.

  “You’re not very tactful with females, are you, Nick?” she says, glowering at her host.

  “Geez, lady, if looks could kill.”

  Turning, Nick showed her where the bathroom was.

  “Hey, go ahead and throw your clothes out and I’ll put them in the wash for you.”

  She went into the bathroom and slammed the door.

  (Smooth move, dick, he thought to himself as he headed to the bedroom to grab her a spare change of clothes.)

  “I hope sweatpants and a t-shirt are fine. I’m going to go ahead and set them outside the door.” He picked up her dirty clothes, tossing them in the washing machine, and then headed to the kitchen to set the table.

  Tiffany walked into the kitchen, drying her hair with a towel, wearing the shirt and sweatpants he had left for her. Nick was trying to look anywhere but at her, but it was hard not to notice her wobbling cantaloupes dancing braless in the borrowed t-shirt while she dried her mane of fiery red hair.

  “Where should I put the towel?” she asked.

  “Just hang it on the shower door handle; I’ll get it later,” he replied, pouring drinks.

  When she came back, he had the table set—a burger and fries on each plate and whisky glasses to the side.

  She sat down at the table. He couldn’t tell what was bigger: the burger in front of her or those bright green eyes locked on it.

  “You don’t have to wait, just dig in.”

  She snapped out of her daze, her eyes shrinking back to their smaller human size.

  Nick was three bites in when he noticed her holding her plate and licking what missed her mouth.

  Nick paused mid-bite, watching her with a mix of amusement and disbelief. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or just let her be.

  “Um,” he sputtered before taking another bite. She froze mid-lick, looking like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

  “There’s more in the bag if you’re hungry…”

  She set the plate down and reached for her glass, taking a swig.

  “Aggh! What is this stuff?”

  “It’s bourbon; too strong?”

  “No, I was expecting something different, and it threw my taste off. Something normal, like Coke or soda.”

  “Well, it is an acquired taste, so if you don’t like it, acquire some taste,” he joked, flashing her a cheesy grin.

  The joke landed about as well as a drunk gymnast.

  “Nick, I suggest you acquire something less alcoholic unless you want a two-ton psycho furry staining your furniture with a scent of wet dog that you can smell from outside.”

  He froze mid-sip, staring at her. “Look, I’m really sorry about those comments earlier, okay? It’s just—well—you smell really strong. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not bad, but I’m just not used to the... potency.”

  “Noted,” Tiffany replied, her tone clipped. “Some things I can’t help, and you don’t need to point them out like that. Plus—I’m not exactly considered normal, even by my kind.” Her gaze dropped to the empty plate.

  Nick tilted his head, her words sinking in. “Wait—drooling mess?”

  “Really?” She sighed, her green eyes narrowing. “Out of all that was said, 'that’s' what you focus on? No; it’s not happening. Get that thought out of your head, because that’s not why I came here.”

  *Oh, you came alright, Nick thought, mentally rolling his eyes.*

  He got up, took her glass, dumped the remainder of bourbon into his own, and returned with water. Handing her the glass, she downed it in one go and held it out.

  “May I have some more, please?”

  Nick went back to the kitchen to grab a refill, shaking his head at the growing pile of empty wrappers Tiffany had left in her wake. It hadn’t quite dawned on him yet that she had devoured everything left in the bag.

  “Did you just—?”

  “Uuuuurrrrrppp.” The sound escaped before she could stop it.

  “Ummm, excuse me,” she squeaked, covering her mouth with her hands.

  “Well, you’re just full of surprises. Wait—did you just eat everything that was in the bag?”

  “Um, sorry,” she mumbled, her gaze dropping sheepishly to the floor. “I did say I was really hungry…” Her signature pout returned as she poked her two index fingers together, looking every bit the picture of guilt.

  “That was four extra double cheeseburgers!” Nick exclaimed, his mouth agape. *(Not counting the one she already devoured…)*

  “But they were so tasty!” she argued.

  “That’s not the point! Ugh, whatever, it’s not like I was hoping to have leftovers or anything. So, now that you’re fed, care to talk, Missy?”

  “Ahem, it’s Tiffany, but you can call me Tiff.”

  “So we’re friends now?” Nick asked, crossing his arms.

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  “You’re still alive, aren’t you?” she retorted with a sly smile, pulling a small object from her pocket and tossing it onto the table.

  “What’s this?” Nick asked, picking it up and turning it over in his hand. At first glance, it looked like a Pentium chip, but a closer inspection revealed unusual materials and a sharp, deliberate puncture mark near the edge. His brow furrowed as he ran his thumb over the puncture mark. The questions just never seemed to end. *Looks like someone wanted to mess with this thing—or break it entirely...*

  “That’s actually my handiwork,” Tiff admitted with a frown, her tone tinged with regret as memories of the warning she’d received resurfaced. She couldn’t help but recall how dangerous her choice had been—and how close she’d come to killing herself in the process. “It’s a Switch chip. Normally, it lets me take on a small human form—helps me blend in. But that one? It’s a hacked fake. Someone swapped it with the my real one and rigged it to stop me from shifting back.”

  Nick tilted his head, examining the puncture more closely. “So your first instinct was to stab it?” he asked, glancing between her and the chip as he furrowed his brow. *Wow, I’m either dealing with a real psychopath, or she was genuinely in a tight spot...* he thought to himself, flipping the device over in his hand repeatedly.

  She nodded slowly. “Yeah. It was a stupid idea, but at the time, I didn’t feel like I had a choice. During the scuffle, my knife broke, so I used a shard of the blade in a last-ditch effort,” she said, her voice softening as she trailed off. The memory of the broken blade and her desperate gamble weighed heavily on her. “If I hadn’t done it, I’d most likely be dead—and we wouldn’t have met the other night.”

  “At the party?” Nick asked, leaning forward slightly.

  Tiff paused, taking a sip of water as if gathering her thoughts. “Actually—it would’ve been after the party,” she replied quietly, her eyes fixed on the water in her glass. “On the road, where you saw the real me.”

  Nick leaned back in his chair, letting out a low whistle. “Someone’s got it out for you, huh?”

  Tiff’s playful smirk vanished, replaced by a darker edge in her green eyes. “More like someone’s got it out for *us.* You were the one in the crosshairs, though. That body in the road? He was on his way to kill you, along with two other guys from the party. You’re welcome, by the way.” Her voice held a hint of smugness, but her expression quickly grew serious.

  Nick raised an eyebrow, skepticism flickering across his face. He lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly. “Why was anyone trying to kill ‘us,’ as you so graciously put it?” he asked.

  Tiffany crossed her arms, her tone steady but tinged with tension. “Well, as for me, Tommy didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, other than their warehouse being shut down and his boss missing. What tipped him off to outside interference was my medical delivery drone. It was supposed to be delivering my chip, but they captured it and swapped it with a counterfeit—leading to the trash you now hold.

  “As for you specifically, you’ve gotten too close to the missing persons cases. They see you as a threat to their trafficking ring—or at least, they did. Now that Tommy’s dead and no longer capturing humans to sell, things might be shifting.”

  Nick frowned, spinning the counterfeit chip between his fingers. The story had taken a grim turn, and he wasn’t sure how to process it. The weight of Tiff’s words hung between them like a thick fog.

  “So you’re here to stop them?” Nick asked, taking a puff of his cigarette.

  Tiffany nodded. “We are. We’re trying to shut the Fratelli family business down.”

  Nick raised the cigarette to his lips again, a spark of puzzlement igniting in his expression. “Wait, we? There are more of you?”

  Tiffany hesitated before replying, her gaze shifting downward, sadness dimming her demeanor. “By us, I meant my partner and I—well, my ex-partner. He’s recovering in the infirmary—he got caught in a bad situation during the warehouse raid.” Her voice faltered slightly, her face clouding with a mixture of sorrow and regret. “As for more of my kind—my species isn’t exactly thriving. Thanks to the Great Purge by the Dark Ones thousands of years ago--we’re practically extinct. Any survivors were scattered across the galaxy—or so my grandpaw told me.”

  Nick took a slow drink of bourbon, the heavy reality pressing down on him. “So, are there more of you here on Earth?” he asked cautiously.

  “Most likely not,” Tiff said, her voice softening. “This place is just where the trail led me. The organization I work for is sort of an intergalactic version of your police here on Earth. My partner and I were tracking smugglers, but…” She trailed off as a shadow of gloom crossed her expression.

  Nick leaned forward, curiosity tugging at him. “Well, that kinda answers where you’re from. Never would've guessed aliens, though. “So, with your partner out of commission, what’s the plan now? Also, was he a Lupus like you?”

  Tiff hesitated, looking down at her hands. The silence hung heavily between them before she finally looked up, her gaze distant. “Maybe it’d be easier to show you. Does your TV have a connection port?”

  “Yeah, it’s on the left side,” Nick said, pointing across the room.

  Tiff got up, bringing a chair to the TV. She gathered her fiery red hair into a ponytail, draping it over her shoulder. With a press on the nape of her neck, a *phachick* sound echoed as a small panel opened. From inside, she pulled out a cord, the connector forming seamlessly into the shape of the socket.

  As she connected herself to the TV, Nick sat up straighter, the screen flickering to life. Bits and pieces of high-definition footage began to play, the images jagged but unmistakably vivid—security feeds, combat sequences, and brief flashes of faces Nick didn’t recognize. He leaned forward, trying to piece together the fragments as the air in the room seemed to thicken.