The evening air hung heavy and warm outside the cinema, neon lights flickering like distant stars against the polished glass doors as clusters of people drifted in and out. Anthony slipped into the lobby, the soft hum of chatter and the scent of buttered popcorn filling the space. At the concession stand, he collected two large tubs of popcorn, one tucked carefully under his arm, while balancing two cold drinks in his other hand. His expression remained composed, but a quiet, mischievous spark lingered in his eyes.

“Where’s mine?” Guinevere’s voice cut through the air, sharp with playful indignation.

Anthony glanced back over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Over there....