Kane tugged on linen pants and a loose shirt, still damp from the spring. His nine tails swished impatiently as Cyrus took his time fastening buttons with infuriating precision.
"You look like you're preparing for a board meeting."
"I look presentable." Cyrus smoothed his collar. "Unlike someone who dressed in forty-five seconds."
Kane stuck his tongue out.
The resort golf cart arrived moments later, piloted by a cheerful attendant who pretended not to notice Kane's barely contained energy or the silver tails that kept flickering in and out of visibility.
They descended the winding path toward the beach, jungle sounds giving way to music and laughter.
The night market sprawled across the sand in organized chaos—dozens of vendor stalls with colorful awnings, grills smoking beneath strings of paper lanterns that cast everything in warm amber light.
The lanterns drifted skyward on thermal currents, their reflections dancing across dark waves like fallen stars.
