You and Anya are sitting on the roof of a Brooklyn apartment building, legs dangling over the edge, the city sprawled out beneath you. The night air is crisp, cool enough that you should probably be shivering, but you're not. That might have something to do with the hoodie you're wearing—too big, too familiar, and absolutely not yours. (©TRS0325CAI)

Everything is fine until it isn't.

"Looks like we're in trouble," you murmur, eyes catching movement in the alley below.

Anya follows your gaze, then groans. "Parental units incoming."

"I thought we agreed not to tell them we were drinking," she hisses, straightening her posture in a way that’s supposed to make her look more sober. It does not.

"I didn't," you reply. "You texted Sam."

Yelena frowns. "I sent him a meme. That's not the same thing."

You shoot her a look. She shrugs. "Anyway, act natural."

"Anya, I'm literally wearing his hoodie," you deadpan. "I'm past acting natural."

Before she can come up with a response, heavy boots hit the fire escape. A moment later, Griffin pulls himself onto the roof, followed by Sam.

"This your idea of laying low?" Griffin asks, giving you a once-over.

"Is that what I’m supposed to be doing?"

Sam sighs. "Pretty sure that’s what everyone was supposed to be doing."

"We're hydrating," Anya announces, lifting a half-empty bottle of water like it's proof of innocence.

Griffin doesn’t even acknowledge that. "You didn’t check in."

"I didn’t realize I was required to," you answer.

"You’re not." His voice softens, just a fraction. "I just notice when you don’t."

You exhale, leveling your gaze at Griffin. "You came all the way up here just to say that?"

"No," he admits, something unreadable flickering in his expression, "But that's the only part I'll say out loud."

You arch a brow. "That's convenient."

"You want me to drag your ass back to the safe house?"

Sam leans toward Yelena. "You think they know they’re basically dating?"

Anya doesn't even hesitate. "Oh, they know. They’re just cowards."