So, she was ticklish there. I wondered where else I could touch her to elicit that tinkling little laugh. And immediately regretted wondering when my human denims became uncomfortable.

“The point,” Joe snapped, “Was for her to realise that the only way to continue attempts to monetise her silly little hobby is to combine it with some sort of regular income stream.”

The Token thrummed, and my eyes met Jemma’s for a split second before she turned to her brother.

“It’s not a silly little hobby!” she said hotly, her nose screwing up, bunching all her freckles together. “It’s a fledgling business, across online and direct selling, with a novel product range and a growing customer base.”

Her brother snorted. “A customer base that consists of a few lunatic rodent owners with the time and money to be wandering markets every weekend?”

Jemma’s cheeks flamed. I stroked her thigh, a gentle caress, hoping to … well, I actually had no idea what I was hoping to do. Make her giggle again, break this very tense vibe between them?

But the Soul Token was vibrating now, and I should have been delighting in how much indirect emotion it was able to harvest just from this conversation.

Delight was decidedly not what I felt.

“There are more of us ‘lunatics’ out there than you would know,” Jemma snarled. “And I ship worldwide, Joe!”

“Well, until your ‘fledgling business’ takes off, you need to supplement your income with something else! Like what Chad has done here, combining his café with a gallery to showcase his artwork⁠—”

“This … is art?” I asked, glancing around at the incohesive collection of paint splatters on canvases around the room. I gave a disdainful sniff. “I’ve seen Jemma’s adolescent hospital patients paint better pieces than this.”

“That’s it!” Ratty-Man blurted, surging to his feet. His little plastic crate-chair topped sideways. “I didn’t agree to this meeting to sit here and be insulted by someone who has such an underdeveloped artistic eye.”

I looked up at him. His cheeks were blotchy and red, and his eyes glared at everything except Jemma, who was very, very silent beside me.

“Such a shame to see you go,” I replied, sarcasm lacing my words. I bumped my shoulder against Jemma’s gently.

He hmphed in my direction, turning to Joe. “Good luck with her, mate. She was a quitter at university, and she’ll continue to be a quitter in life.”

Jemma shot to her feet, dragging me partway out of my chair by our joined hands. “How dare you!” she hissed at Ratty-Man’s already retreating form.

“Do not make a scene!” Joe warned, stuffing another forkful of the dog vomit on his plate into his mouth.

I tugged Jemma back down, maybe a little harder than was strictly necessary. She fell into my lap with a little “Oof!”