Alethia picks up a thick wooden pipe in the shape of a palm frond and flips open a lighter. “Please tell me you won’t report me,” she says with a laugh, but the look in her eyes is a little too desperate, a little too real. Seshet tries to lighten the mood. “Only if you share.” She’s smoked weed a handful of times in her life—all with Terry, in fact, from one of his fancy vintage vape pens while they played some ridiculous old video game of his with a lot of guns and gore—but she’s willing to try again just to take the scared edge out of Alethia’s voice.
