"Ready…?" Runa asked, smiling gently at her son.
"Sure," Erik answered calmly, a carefree smirk on his lips, still wearing the elegant, but martial silver and amber suit. He turned to his side and raised an eyebrow. "What about you…?"
Alice pouted. She was sitting on his outstretched arm in wereverine form, with her short, furry arms wrapped around his neck. She was eleven years old, going on twelve, but since wereverines had naturally diminutive bodies, she could still sit comfortably like this. And, of course, she weighed nothing to Erik's third-rank power.
"I think I'm too old to be sitting like this…" she grumbled, despite clinging tightly to her adoptive father.
"I can let you down if you like," Erik suggested, his tone amused.
But Alice glanced nervously at the stairs before them, and then tightened her grip on him. "N— No!"
