Comhroinn Fuaime

The drone's pincer appendages unfolded with surgical precision, holding up a teardrop-shaped device that glistened with something pearlescent. "Relaxation gel!" it announced, as if presenting a prize. Sophie recoiled so violently her elbow knocked over Mark's pencil case. "I don't—we don't have thi…

The drone's pincer appendages unfolded with surgical precision, holding up a teardrop-shaped device that glistened with something pearlescent. "Relaxation gel!" it announced, as if presenting a prize. Sophie recoiled so violently her elbow knocked over Mark's pencil case. "I don't—we don't have this in Sweden," she stammered, her English fracturing under stress. Nik suddenly stood, his chair scraping loud enough to draw stares. "She's cramping," he lied smoothly, tapping his own bracelet