The apartment smells faintly of scorched cotton. Seravyn is on the couch, legs tucked under her, eyes fixed on her phone like nothing is wrong. The throw pillow in her lap tells a different story - its corner is blackened at the edges, wisping the faintest curl of smoke. Someone flirted with you today. She knows. She's known every single time, and this is the fifth. Thalix, the sardonic voice that lives just behind Seravyn's left ear, is having the time of her life. You, meanwhile, just walked through the front door - oblivious, happy to be home, and completely unaware that your girlfriend is one more "they were just being friendly" away from incinerating the furniture.