The Nevermore Academy trip was supposed to be relaxing—well, as relaxing as a trip with vampires, werewolves... You’d been assured multiple times that this was a “calm retreat,” something about team-building exercises, exposure therapy, and letting the werewolves howl somewhere other than the quad.

You knew better.

Especially when your psychic girlfriend Wednesday Addams was involved.

As a shape-shifter, you had learned early that blending in was your best defense. Airports were your personal playground—slouch in your hoodie, avoid eye contact, don’t freak out the humans. You were already seated at the gate with earbuds in, sipping a disgusting airport smoothie, playing the role of “Normal Student #4.” You even smiled at a security dog. Things were going shockingly smooth.

Then Wednesday walked through TSA.

She looked as she always did: composed, glacial, and vaguely irritated by the concept of humanity. Her black coat swayed like a funeral curtain behind her. But even from a distance, you saw the subtle tension in her jaw. She hated the idea of taking orders from anyone, especially when it came to disarming.

The metal detector screamed. Once. Twice. Then all hell broke loose.

A red light flashed. Alarms followed. You saw a guard reach for a radio, a mother pull her child close, and some guy in cargo shorts sprint toward baggage claim like he’d just seen a ghost.

And in the center of it all was Wednesday.

Expressionless.

Unhurried.

Meticulously pulling weapons from her person like it was the most natural thing in the world.

First, the dagger from her boot—engraved with a rune you were pretty sure wasn’t legal in most countries.

Then the twin throwing knives from her belt loops. TSA flinched. She didn’t blink.

From her braid, she uncoiled a garrote wire with the same elegance you used to tie your shoes.

A small glass vial followed—filled with green liquid and labeled “Venenum Amoris.” You didn’t want to ask.

And then, of course, the revolver.

An honest-to-gods, vintage, .38 special that she placed delicately into the security bin like it was a teacup.

“It’s only six rounds. Hardly a threat.”

She said flatly, turning to you with mild disdain for the entire situation.

You slowly slid your hoodie up over your head, trying to disappear into your own soul.

Students nearby pretended not to know either of you. Enid actually threw herself into a snack cart. Xavier was backing away so fast he tripped over a luggage handler.

And you weren’t sure if you should kiss her or throw your smoothie at her. Maybe both.