“I still haven’t met the bride-to-be,” said Houston. “Knowing you, she’s got to be a little crazy.”

“Oh, pshaw,” said Pierre. “Have you even been looking at my Facebook? I’m settling down, getting old and boring.”

“I have a hard time believing that ten years would be enough time to file off those sharp edges,” Houston replied. “Plus, everyone censors themselves now that their grandmothers are on there.”

“Well, judge for yourself,” Pierre said, opening the dining room door. “May I present Ms. Jane Roe, the future Mrs. Pierre Delecroix.”

Houston stopped dead at the sight of the short brunette. Those eyes…that face…he hadn’t seen them in years, not since that terrible night. He could still feel the world tumbling beneath him, see the harsh lights, feel the cold clammy metal…

“Ah, so is that what you’re going by these days?” Houston said. “When I knew her, she was still going by “უცხოელის” but admittedly it’s hard to make a proper introduction when you’re being abducted and probed by ნეპტუნიians.”

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