Winter tilted her head at the remark. "If you are concerned about others discovering my artificial nature through speech patterns—"
Her voice warped mid-sentence. Static flickered through the word.
Then it came back entirely different.
"—like, oh my god, don't worry, I totally get it," she said, tone lighter, slower, careless in a way that almost hurt to hear. She shifted her weight onto one hip, lifted a hand to brush her hair back, fingers loose, nails catching the light. "I'll just, y'know, vibe. Grab a drink. Maybe find a couch. See where the night goes, right?"
She punctuated it with a small, thoughtless little shrug.
Don raised his brows.
"…Wow," he said. "Yeah. I guess that works."
He ashed the cigarette and started walking toward the house. "Let's go."
They crossed the street together, music swelling as they neared the property. Lights spilled across the front yard. Voices layered over the bass.
