"Ready for the latest chapter?" Andy asked, pulling her into the white void of the gutter between pages.

A massive, tattooed hand reached out from the monitor, the skin smoking as it crossed into the third dimension. Fuuko didn't pull away. She reached out, her fingers trembling. The moment her skin brushed his, the "Unluck" sparked—not as a disaster, but as a bridge.

"Hey, Unluck," the speech bubble read. The Japanese kanji were shaky. "You still reading?"

On page fifteen, Andy turned toward the "camera." He wasn't looking at the villain anymore. He was looking at her .