Dinner moved like a tide: arriving in waves, retreating into jokes, returning with noodles that had exactly the right bite. Reika's kitchen army stacked empty steamers like trophies. Seraphina sent two sorbets out as a preview and made the freezer sound pleased. The city leaned into night outside our windows, hoverlights humming over the avenues like polite fireflies.
"Round two," Reika announced, clapping once. "Final gifts before cake."
Aria dragged Marcus to the front. "We got you something useful," she said. "He wanted to give you a calculus problem. I slapped his hand."
"It was a very good calculus problem," Marcus said.
Aria produced a box the size of a loaf. Inside, nested in foam, was a fire extinguisher no longer than Stella's forearm, matte black, with a hand-painted label that read FOR THE SECRET PROJECT.
