I sat snug on Reyes' lap in the sunlit studio, her strong arms wrapped tight around my waist—secure anchor against my limp legs dangling, pink-polished toes brushing the chair rung.
The worktable sprawled chaotic with around 100 fresh Helly Paws designs: roaring dinosaur graphic tees in neon greens, delicate butterfly hoodies with iridescent wings, creepy-cute spider and scorpion onesies for bold pet parents, plus paw-print joggers, starry cat collars, body-lighting t-shirts, and glow-in-dark bat bandanas—my sketchpad alive with defiant creativity.
"What are you doing, omega?" Reyes murmured low, her gray eyes soft under the cap, breath warm on my neck.
"Reyes, don't act cheeky—you know what I'm doing," I shot back, pencil flying fierce over paper, raven hair loose post-bath shine.
"Emily, take a rest—you've been at this since morning, non-stop," she coaxed gentle, one hand rubbing my thigh soothingly.
