At the front of the group, Liam moved unhurriedly; the cool morning air pressed against his bare skin.
Elizabeth walked slightly behind his right shoulder, with Midnight tailing him like a lost puppy.
Midnight, perched on his right shoulder with her legs draped across his bare chest like she owned the real estate, watched this exchange with narrowed slits. Her tail flicked hard against his shoulder blade, once, sharp.
She uncapped her jar. That jar. The infinite-tier smoked honey glaze he'd made two nights ago, the batch with the applewood reduction he'd been proud of, the lid popped with a soft click, and the smell hit him immediately: caramelized sugar, dark smoke, a thread of something floral underneath.
One small gloved finger dipped deep into the gold. Slow. The kind of slow that had nothing to do with savoring and everything to do with being watched.
She brought it to her lips.
