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Otto nods emphatically. “Right, right. We’re looking for a witch, then?”

“Not necessarily,” I point out. “Lots of shifters can cloak without using witchcraft.”

Abe and Otto go through a short list of shifters who have the ability to cloak themselves naturally, but that doesn’t get far before I point out any breed of monster can have magical enhancements giving them this skill, either paid for or given by a friend who’s a witch. And then we’re back at square one.

Otto finishes his lemonade and says he’s going to head over to Fast Glass for a game of corn hole with his cousin and a few guys we went to high school with. Just as he gets to his feet, I get a text from Mom asking for updates on the investigation.

I’m relaying exactly what I told Otto when I overhear Abe say in a lowered voice, “I very much appreciate your insight today. I’m learning it’s helpful to put words to thoughts sometimes in order to understand them better.”

It’s such an unexpected comment, my thumbs pause their movements across the keyboard of my phone.

“Yeah,” Otto replies, rubbing his chin. “Funny you say that. I was talking to my father the other day and had no idea how frustrated I’d gotten with him about forgetting to take his meds until the words actually came out of my mouth.” Otto’s expression shifts into one of delighted surprise. “It’s like saying them out loud makes them real or validates part of you that you didn’t know existed.”

Abe nods, looking thoughtful. “Yes, I’ve found the same to be true.”

Otto pats him on the back in that typical dude way, but Abe pulls him into a hug. Not a quick one either.

“I hope this is okay, friend,” Abe says to Otto. “Hugs have become one of my favorite activities.”

Otto shoots me a confused glance over Abe’s shoulder. “Oh, okay. Sure, bud.” He pats Abe’s back a few times, expecting to be released, I think. I have to bite the inside of my lip to keep from laughing. “Y-yeah,” Otto continues when Abe doesn’t let go, “hugs are cool.”

Eventually, Abe does let go and Otto leaves, but my mind remains locked on that hug hours later. How openly vulnerable Abe was for stating what he wanted and what he liked, and for doing so with another man he barely knows. The moment lacked even a trace of toxic masculinity on Abe’s part. No desire to appear tough and emotionless or to minimize a need for platonic touch between him and someone he’d just bonded with over a concept most people only discover with the help of a therapist.

Then it hits me. Abe is brand new. He was programmed to perform certain jobs, and he doesn’t come with the baggage of societal pressures most of us carry around while doing those jobs. It’s likely he understands toxic masculinity as a concept but is free from having to unlearn any behaviors poisoned by it.

How is that not the ideal man? Am I an idiot for putting distance between us?

The next day, work is a nonstop push to get vendors booked for the Heritage Day celebrations. We’ve got food vendors, a medical tent, face painters, and entertainers lined up for the kids. Dominic is happy to run the beer garden as long as he can offer the new porter he and Lindsay brewed to see if he should make it a Fast Glass staple. Grace will be managing our team of volunteers, which is a massive weight off my back because I’m usually in charge of wrangling them.

As we’re leaving for the day, the hospital calls to say Ezra’s fingers twitched, and we waste no time hauling our asses over there.

Ilana is sitting at the foot of Ezra’s bed, holding their hand when we arrive. Ezra’s parents are in the corner of the room, arms wrapped around one another as they look on at their child with wet eyes.

“How many times?” I ask, slightly out of breath from skipping the elevator and taking the stairs. “Are their fingers still twitching?”

“No,” Ilana replies with a slight frown. “It only happened once, but the doctor said it was a great sign. They’re scheduled for another brain scan tomorrow morning, so we’ll have to wait and see if anything has changed there.” She releases Ezra’s hand and gestures for me to take her place at the foot of the bed. “Why don’t you spend some time with them? Ezra’s parents and I were going to grab some dinner in the cafeteria.”

There’s no hint of malice in her tone, which I’m grateful for. She’s likely elated by Ezra’s progress and has no room for resentment right now. I’ll take it. “Oh, sure. I’d like that.”

Ziggy hops up next to me the moment I sit down and nudges Ezra’s hand with his head, purring louder than I think I’ve ever heard. Ezra and Ziggy are extremely tight. The three of us were together a lot of the time we were awake. I feel like an asshole for not checking in with him more about how he feels without their presence.

You miss them, huh? I send him.

I do. So much. When he’s settled on the bed, he covers their hand with his paw. I miss Sunday afternoons the most. That was my favorite time of the week.

Sunday afternoons were for Ezra and me to go through the plan for the upcoming work week, then we’d order two large pizzas, take a weed gummy, and watch slasher films and rom-coms from our childhood. It was a great way to decompress and reset for the week ahead. Every other night besides Karaoke night was for Ezra and Ilana, but Sundays were for the three of us. Ziggy would roll around in some loose catnip in order to match our high, and he’d snuggle up between us during the movie. I miss those afternoons too.

Me too, buddy. I let out a sigh, hoping this will all be over soon and life can return to normal.

My phone rings from inside my purse, and Abe hands it to me after checking the screen. “Not AI,” he says with a smirk.

I return the grin and take the call in the hallway. “Vice Chairwoman Martinez, how are you?”

“I’m well, Emma. Thank you. Listen, I won’t take up much of your time. I’m not calling about an update on the investigation, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?”

“I just wanted you to know we’re aware of your interest in joining us on the committee. We have been for some time now.”