The air crackled with a different energy on the day of the finals.
It wasn't just the usual arena buzz; it was a tangible hum of anticipation, a collective held breath before the storm.
At Eamond's arena stand, the chaos was controlled pandemonium.
The queue snaked back further than ever, fueled by the finals hype and the Emporium's lingering notoriety.
Jake and Syd worked the enchanted oven like seasoned veterans, faces flushed, arms moving in a blur as they pulled trays of shimmering "Treasure Tarts" and "Count's Revenge" cakes.
Mia and Farrah were a whirlwind at the drink station, filling cups with practiced speed, their voices chirping orders back and forth.
And there, right in the thick of it, was Garret.
He wasn't just observing anymore. He stood beside Vale near the front counter, his earlier pallor replaced by a healthy flush of exertion.
He carefully stacked warm tarts onto small wooden plates.
