The morning sun slanted through the enchanted skylight, fracturing across the crystalline wards and scattering soft colors over the main hall.
What should have been a morning of quiet calm was already shaping into a spectacle worthy of an epic poem—or, more accurately, a supernatural comedy of errors.
Marcus had retreated to the far end of the table, pretending to read an old tome but mostly hiding his mounting frustration behind it.
Kai, ever the instigator, was feeding Nova bits of fruit from his plate while making exaggerated chewing noises, to her great delight.
Callum, dignified as ever, looked as though he were silently calculating the number of ways the day could go wrong before the first cup of tea even cooled.
Samantha sat in the middle of it all, one hand absently rubbing Nova's back, the other gripping her mug of coffee like it was the only thing holding her sanity in place.
