“Race with me,” Sloane says, eyes bright with excitement, and Hurley should say no. She's a militiawoman; she has a job to do protecting Goldcliff and setting a good example for its citizens, not engaging in the same sort of activity her people are tasked with shutting down. She can't. It would be irresponsible. It would be wrong.

“I'll need a disguise,” is what she says instead, and when Sloane's whole face lights up, she can't find it in her to regret the decision at all.

“I've already taken care of that!” the half-elf announces, scampering over to pick up an oddly-shaped brown paper package. She shoves it at Hurley and insists breathlessly, “Open it!”

Hurley takes a moment to smile at the other woman's pure enthusiasm before tearing the paper apart – and gasping at what she finds inside. It's a mask made of shining bronze in the shape of a ram's head, curling silver horns spiraling from the top. “It's exquisite,” she breathes.

“I've known what animal it would be for a long time,” Sloane explains as she lifts it to Hurley's face and ties it on. “The ram: the kindhearted, just ruler.”

Hurley feels warmth in her chest to hear herself described as such by Sloane. “Thank you,” she manages.

Sloane grins. “And now the world will never know you are, and I can keep you all to myself as my racing partner.”

Hurley pulls the mask off, quirking an eyebrow. “I only agreed to one race.”

“After one, you won't be able to stop.” Sloane plucks the mask from her hands and sets it aside before bending to pull her into a kiss. Hurley already knows she's right.