“It’s tradition,” Sophie insisted that evening, looping a scarf around her neck. “You have to come carolling with us.” “No, I don’t,” Evie argued, clutching her cocoa like a shield. “You’ve seen me sing. Remember karaoke night? The DJ begged me to stop.” “That was because you attempted opera with a Britney Spears song.” “It was art!” “It was a crime,” Sophie deadpanned. Then, before Evie could bolt, Sophie shoved a songbook into her hands. “Relax. You just mouth the words in the back. No one will even notice.” Evie narrowed her eyes but followed anyway. Because deep down, under layers of sarcasm, caffeine, and residual elf trauma, she did love Christmas. Just… preferably from a safe, non-singing distance. The carolling group gathered outside the town hall, all bundled in festive scarves, cheeks rosy in the cold. Candles flickered in little glass jars, casting warm halos against the snow. Children bounced in excitement. Elderly folks handed out candy canes. It was annoyingly magical. And, naturally, Luke was there.