He had seen some strange things in his thirty-six years.

Strange, in his world, could mean a lot of things. A lizard that pooped in seventeen distinct shades. A macaw with a vendetta against anyone in a Yankees cap. A python that swallowed an entire novelty rubber chicken. And, once, a Great Dane that passed a diamond tennis bracelet like it was just another Tuesday.

But none of it topped the weirdness of being in love with Jane Stafford—Brooklyn’s resident bombshell realtor who read dark romance novels in public and kept her lipstick in the glove compartment of a Porsche. They’d been together for five years, engaged for one, until things ended in a way he still didn’t unpack, even with his oldest friends.

That had been two years ago.

And with Jane, her younger sister was more of a background blur than a real person. She’d been a kid back then—though “kid” was generous, given she was already in her late teens. Zack just remembered her as… small. Small, and strange in an oddly quiet way. The kind of girl who shuffled into the kitchen in pajama pants with moons on them at three in the afternoon, poured milk into tea until it went cardboard beige, and drifted out without another word.

He hadn’t seen her since. Which was why he had to blink twice when she appeared in his clinic doorway now, years later.

The clinic smelled faintly of cedar shavings and the citrus cleaner his receptionist swore by. Sunlight poured in through the big front windows, catching on the chrome trim of the reception desk and the glass enclosures that lined the wall—tortoises, geckos, an African grey cockatoo that could say “pay your bill” in a perfect Brooklyn accent. His private office was just visible down the hall, past the treatment rooms and the surgery suite.

He’d built this place from the ground up—Lowe Exotic & Small Animal Clinic—a glossy, modern, unapologetically expensive space with warm walnut counters and frosted glass doors. He liked the work. He liked the pace. He liked knowing every animal in a ten-block radius could end up on his table.

And he liked control. Which was exactly why the sight of her here, now, made something in him tip just a little off-balance.

She was standing in the doorway like she wasn’t sure she’d be let in. Hair a little mussed, hoodie two sizes too big, sleeves half covering her hands. In her arms was the sparkliest, most aggressively glitter-covered plastic container he’d ever seen.

Inside, curled tight like a cinnamon roll, was a miniature hedgehog. Its tiny nose twitched with every breath.

She looked up at him, eyes soft and unblinking in a way that made him feel like he was in a different kind of exam room—one where he was the one being assessed.

“Hi,” she said softly, like they hadn’t gone five years without speaking. Like she hadn’t last seen him pulling a diamond ring off her sister’s finger. “Um… I think she sneezed. Twice.”

Zack just stared at her, because somehow, out of all the strange things he’d dealt with in his life, this—Jane’s sleepy little sister turning up in his clinic with a glitter box and a sneezing hedgehog—was shaping up to be one of the strangest.