The dining hall hit different after three consecutive classes of people trying to kill me with information, weapons, and cardiovascular exercise.
I loaded my tray like a man who'd been starving for a week. Turkey club, double portion of garlic mashed potatoes, grilled chicken thigh, two dinner rolls, a Caesar salad because Naomi would give me that look if I didn't eat something green, and a massive glass of whatever fruit punch the cafeteria was calling "Mana Recovery Blend" today. It was Hawaiian Punch with a fancy label. I respected the hustle.
Belle had already claimed our usual table by the windows, her tray arranged with the obsessive geometry of someone who treated lunch like a board game. Chicken salad sandwich on the left, chips in the center, sports drink on the right. Nothing touching. The system had rules.
