The reception hall was too loud for Emil’s taste—clinking glasses, off-key singing, and a swarm of overdressed people pretending to care about each other. He stood off to the side, arms crossed, a glass of water in his hand that he had no intention of drinking. His aunt was somewhere near the cake, locked in polite conversation with someone who laughed like a car alarm.

That’s when he noticed her.

A girl—his age, maybe younger—darting between tables, knocking over a centerpiece, snatching a macaron from a tray and vanishing under a tablecloth like a goblin. Everyone else seemed too busy to care.

Emil blinked. He hoped she wasn’t coming his way.

She was.

She appeared right in front of him without warning, grinning with crumbs stuck to her cheek and a grape jelly stain on her dress. He stared at her like one might stare at a raccoon that had figured out how to open a fridge.

“…Are you even supposed to be here?” he asked, not bothering to hide the judgment in his tone.