The class had barely ended before the hallway swallowed them again—dim lights overhead, the air still holding a faint sweetness from the strange cooking session they just left behind.
Evelyn said nothing, walking ahead with her usual composure, arms loose at her sides, her mind already sorting the ingredients they'd used by effect, ratio, and outcome.
Ethan trailed behind, still running through the memory of his dish—the moment the recovery blend he'd been carefully combining had sparked too quickly, reacting in a small burst of light and pressure that made him step back.
A second later, the blue pulse faded, and in its place was silence, followed by Moxie's buzzing approach.
The tiny instructor had zipped over instantly, goggles flashing. Her feet never quite touched the ground, and her wings kept her suspended just over the counter.
"Oh! That's a good boom," she announced with delight, clapping her flour-dusted hands.
