Nill slips her hand over the scrap to cover it from curious eyes. She puts on the too-enthusiastic smile of a diehard fan, all for show. It makes her look silly, and she hopes, a little, that it might make Rose laugh. The blonde pulls the book to her chest and gives a nod of thanks, both for the signature and the number before turning (the back beneath the jacket devoid of the lumps that might give notice of her wings) and leaving the bar.

Later, a text message, from a number that will only be used tonight:

Dinner or drinks? Either is on me.