Enoch downs his shot too. Malibu and pineapple juice, horrific. He could've easily conjured an illusory shot to drink instead while Crysta was distracted, but there's something enjoyable about descending down this ill-advised path with his sister. He rarely ever lets himself relax for real.

"Oh, they'll hate that." He looks around—every possible angle of this bar is aggressively, alarmingly gay. "They're still in denial about never getting grandchildren. They'll tell everyone that you and Jack were in love and planning to get married before you died."