We had forty minutes before Tsukishima's class, which Belle used to eat her oatmeal with the deliberate slowness of someone reminding me that I'd wronged her and she intended to extract every ounce of contrition available. Jordan slept. Naomi stole my last piece of bacon and pretended she hadn't. The morning proceeded with the mundane rhythm of people who had not, four days prior, watched a friend die in a dimension that shouldn't exist.
"We should move," Naomi said eventually, checking her phone. "Tsukishima docks house points for anyone who's late, and she counts the seconds."
Jordan lifted his head. "Weapon building. My favorite. Nothing says fun like a woman who can crush your skull by making it heavier."
"That's Mass Manipulation," Belle said, gathering her tray. "Localized density control. She could make your head weigh eight hundred pounds and watch your neck decide whether to hold."
"I don't like that you know that off the top of your head."
