“You know, I’m actually starting to think the aliens are the good guys here,” Myla mumbled.

She and Beck were curled up on a couch in the smaller living room, a blanket draped over both their legs. A half-finished bowl of popcorn rested on Beck’s stomach while Myla lay tucked against his side, her head on his shoulder, his fingers idly twisting a lock of her hair.

The lights were dim, the TV screen glowing softly with soft colors as they watched a terrible, low-budget sci-fi ...