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The kid seemed the get over his previous reservations pretty quickly. That was... good, right? Right. Less good was his rain-slicked fur pressed against her legs. An involuntary shiver shot up her spine at the sensation. Her skin crawled.

But then Cupid spoke and her head snapped quickly in his direction, then back down to the kid. How can you tell? She asked, trying to keep the waver out of her voice, the hollow feeling of dread.

She didn't know squat about kids. She couldn't tell at a glance if he was old enough to survive off milk, and suddenly what was once a very routine "hey this random kid just showed up at my house" had turned into "hey I might have to watch this random kid starve to death".

What do we do if he can't?

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