I sat back and folded my arms, relief tingling through every inch of my body. The Hounds stared up at me, slack-jawed, tongues lolling.

“Boss …” Beezle began, and something tightened inside me. Did they disagree? Was I going to have to find some other way to convince them that we needed to leave her business out of this?

“I mean, I’m sure we’ll come up with something⁠—”

“You’re a damn genius, Boss! Passive misery! You’re a trailblazer, a … an innovator!”

“Well,” I mumbled, scratching at the stubble on my jaw. “It’s more a … happy accident. I never intentionally developed the Token to do that.”

“Don’t tell Daddy that, though!” Bub was aghast. “You celebrate your success, Boss!”

“We won’t be telling Da-Father anything. Not until the end … not until the whole process has been tested.” I swallowed back the ache in my throat at the mention of the end. “Aren’t we supposed to be coming up with a task for Jemma?”

“Oooh, she’s just Jemma now? You two getting a bit … intimate?” Bub’s words were sly. “We saw how you were touching her leg under the table, all comforting-like.”

“Of course not!” I protested, glad that my skin was already red, because I was blushing furiously. Which in itself was mortifying. Devils did not blush. They especially did not blush over being caught out having … thoughts … about humans. “I was trying to unsettle her!”

Beezle snorted. “Sure you were.”

“Can we please stick to the task at hand?” I demanded. “What else do we know about Jemma … Bliss,” I added with a sharp look at my amused Hounds, “that we can use?”

Silence fell. And into the silence, my very inappropriate brain threw up a number of things that I knew about her that were probably not very helpful but were hard to stop myself thinking about. Things like how she giggled when I brushed my thumb over that soft skin of her inner thigh …

“Gluten!” Bub yelled.

“Gluten?” I blinked, forcing myself to stop thinking about Jemma’s thighs. “Ah, yes, there was some mention of ‘gluten intolerance’ today … whatever that is.”

“Oh, we already know, Boss!” Bub panted excitedly. “That Ratty-Man was having a good old whinge about it. Said … oh, Boss, can I please do the voice?”

I sighed. “Alright.”

Bub’s snout split into a leering grin, and he coughed once, affecting the nasal tones of Ratty-Man. “And she’s still telling everyone who’ll listen that she can’t eat gluten? She’s such a bloody attention seeker! She used to make a big song and dance of getting stomach cramps and gas and having to leave everywhere early. Fucking ruined our social life, just because she needed something that made her feel special, the dumb fucking sla⁠—”