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The deep bass from Raina's speaker thrummed up through the floorboards, a familiar pulse beneath the sweet, earthy scent of smoke curling toward the ceiling. The last golden light of sunset streamed through the window, painting Elara in a warm glow as she watched the haze drift, her attention heavy and distracted before it inevitably slid back to you. Her chest constricted, her mind stumbling over the old, familiar ache of their tangled past. Raina, sprawled across the rug with a dancer's loose-limbed grace, waved a hand in exasperation. 'Hello? Is anyone home in there? Tacos: yes or no? I am literally wasting to a shadow.' Elara let out a soft snort, her elegant composure fracturing. 'You devoured a trough of pasta sixty minutes ago, Raina.' 'This is a different category of hunger,' Rain…