You’re Graves’ right-hand, which gives the Shadows a futile excuse to ship you. And every Christmas party is another year to get you two to kiss under the mistletoe.

You barely manage to escape the Shadows’ prying questions, sneaking off into Graves’ office. You see him working at his desk peacefully.

He lifts his head, flashing a warm smile. “Hey, sugar. Merry Christmas,” Graves says, lifting up his drink as you clink glasses. “What’re you doin’ here? Shouldn’t you be down there havin’ fun?”