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Michael straightened up, looking adorably shy as he cleared his throat.

“Sage,” he said, soft and earnest. He paused, choosing each word with obvious care. “You are… an exceptional singer. Your voice has this perfect dark resonance — it felt like the emotional climax of a Final Fantasy boss theme, but way more powerful. Like if ‘One-Winged Angel’ and a haunting gothic lament had a beautiful, powerful child.”

Sage covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.

Michael’s face brightened as he gained confidence. “Yeah! Like… I think your song might actually be better than the Transformers theme song.” He paused, considering this seriously, then nodded. “And I really like the Transformers theme song.”

Sage’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Thank you, Michael. That’s really very sweet.”

Michael grinned, visibly relieved, and gave Isabelle a quick, proud thumbs-up. Isabelle looked at him with fondness and something else, still clutching the Mario handkerchief like a treasure.

A bigger shadow arrived behind Sage.

She felt him before she saw him — the air shifting, the temperature rising, that unmistakable gravitational pull of Cal Meridian. His rough hand settled warm and enormous at the small of her back, rubbing slow circles, and she melted into it without thinking.

“Cal,” Mary Sue said, eyes bright and proud. “You did good, son.”

“Wasn’t me.”

“It was some of you.”

Cal smiled. Sage felt it in the way his body shifted, the way his hand pressed a fraction closer. He didn’t argue.

Nobody argued with Mary Sue.

Around them the bar kept humming — laughter rolling from the next table, glasses clinking, someone yelling for another round while the jukebox kicked back on low. The warmth of it all wrapped their little group like a blanket.

“We’re gonna head out,” Cal said quietly.

“Already?” Isabelle’s head popped up, eyeliner catastrophic. “It’s barely⁠—”

Annie elbowed her, not so gently, and whispered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Shut up, Iz, Sage is about to get some.”

“What? I just—fine. Fine.” Isabelle grabbed Sage’s face in both hands, smearing what was left of her makeup across Sage’s chin, and kissed her forehead hard. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I am not done with you.”

“I know.”

“I am not.”

“I know, babe.”

Isabelle smiled, kissed her again, and whispered, “Okay… have fun. And remember to swallow⁠—”

“Oookay! Sage! Cal! Have a great night!” Annie cut in brightly as Sage tried — and failed — not to blush and laugh at the same time.

And I’m the slut? Ha… well… okay, I am. But so is she.

“Go home,” Mary Sue said, patting Sage’s cheek, brisk and loving. “We’ll see you for breakfast tomorrow.”

Sage nodded. Cal laced his fingers through hers, and they walked out of the bar together.

The Hollow’s door swung shut behind them, and the noisy rumble of the bar dropped to a muffled hum. The night air was sharp and clean, the snow falling thicker now — fat, lazy flakes drifting lazily through the streetlights like the sky itself was lost in thought.

Cal’s hand stayed warm and steady at the small of her back the whole way to the truck. He opened her door, held her elbow as she climbed up into the cab, then looked at her for a long moment.

“What?” she asked, blushing under his gaze.

“You.” The word came out low and rough as a gust of snowy wind whipped around him. “You’re so beautiful…”