The crack did not sound dramatic.
It was not a cinematic shatter, no crystalline explosion of frozen destiny.
It was the soft, brittle tick of something that had been holding tension for far too long and had finally decided it was tired of being polite.
Shen's spine straightened.
The crumb in his aura flared bright enough to cast faint golden freckles across the backsplash.
Rico froze mid-scrub. "No," he said firmly, as if denying gravity. "Nope. We just negotiated with dairy. I will not emotionally survive a freezer subplot."
Lucien, who had barely recovered his posture and only recently reclaimed his dignity from the tile floor, whispered, "Please let it be ice. I can handle ice. Ice is decorative. Ice is photogenic. Ice does not form unions."
From inside the freezer came a long, slow exhale.
Cold air slipped out beneath the seal, coiling along the floor like theatrical fog with ambition.
