Riley huffs, murmuring to herself, half focused on finding a free parking spot, “Alexa, are you trying to be difficult, or does it come naturally?”

“I’m difficult? You won’t even tell me what’s going on!” Her search for the proper response seems to come to a dead-end, but she at least finds us that parking spot. The rumble of the engine now replaced by the clatter of unbuckling seat belts, she tries again, “You gotta believe me, I really want to tell you, but—”

“—Please don’t start with that ‘special promise’ stuff. I already figured it out. They messed with my memories here. You don’t have to keep lying about it.”