Lev cocks their head to one side, suddenly birdlike themself. They meet Copia's gaze—from under half-lowered painted lids, their eyes glow lilac and lavender in the night, and the star in their forehead flickers like a gas-lamp in the wind—and then wordlessly nod. Copia's glowing does not faze them—many nephilim glow. They are starting to suspect that "nephil" is an idea coherent to them and them only, at least here, but they're still primed to assumptions that render an awful lot of the oddness in Pumpkin Hollow completely quotidian to them. And in any case, their husband's a Leo—they'd noted the horoscope, and remembered it over remembering their own, and they'd been spotting glowing citizens the whole day, making a game of it.

(They miss their husband. To be expected, maybe, but difficult nonetheless.)

They nod to Copia, and get up, a little slower than their age would seem to indicate.

"Fine," they say. "Lead on, Friend." They put a certain emphasis on the word—a title, a term of address, not a label.