George groaned as he made his way groggily down the stairs, running his fingers through his shaggy red hair. Sleep was a cruel mistress, evading his every advance. He made it to the kitchen to take a swig of fire whiskey, but he raised his brow in interest when he found Wren sitting at the counter with a glass already in hand.

“Oh, you’re a cheeky one, aren’t you, luv?” He teased. “Drinking at this hour? How unsavory.”