The town appeared slowly, as if it had been holding its breath and was only now deciding to let itself be seen.
Low buildings. Faded storefronts. A rusted petrol station sign creaks faintly in the wind. Some windows were shattered, others boarded. Old flyers littered the main street, fused into the asphalt by rain and time. They were bleached into ghosts of words no one remembered caring about.
Felicity barely registered any of that at first.
Because Damien's tail had just slid, deliberate and unhurried, over the thin fabric beneath her shorts.
It was not an accident. It was not the wind.
It was a slow, testing drag that traced the line of her panties and dipped just low enough to make her brain blank.
She made a sound. Not dignified. Not subtle.
