"AAAAAHHHH I REFUSE! I SHALL NOT BE CLOTHED!"
Seren's dramatic shriek echoed through the shop like a battle cry.
A few customers turned to stare.
Zayn? He looked entirely unbothered, even bored, as he nudged the flailing girl forward with his foot.
"Stop making it sound like I'm sacrificing you to a volcano," Zayn sighed, giving her one final shove toward the changing room.
Seren, dressed in what could only be described as "Snowy Forest Orphan Chic" — a tattered bandeau top and a skirt held together with hope and venom — planted her heels like a stubborn goat.
"I like my clothes! They are breathable! Perfect for spitting acid and — !"
"Nope." Zayn flicked his wrist.
Golden soul energy shimmered down to his leg. "We are not keeping the acid-spitting hobo aesthetic. Not when I'm the one walking beside you."
Before she could retaliate with more hissing, he channeled just enough energy to his foot and shoved her into the changing room.
