A week later, Ember & Ash was buzzing—not just with customers, but with plans.
Callum leaned over the counter, sketching something on a napkin with a battered pen. Felix sipped coffee, watching.
It wasn't a menu.It wasn't a seating chart.
It was a list.
At the top, underlined three times:
"Chefs Felix Needs to Apologize To (Before They Feed Him a Bomb Out of Spite)"
The list was... long.
Chef Voss's name was already crossed off, in thick, angry lines.But below it:
Chef Marco Bellini (Felix had once called his pasta "pretentious noodle soup.")
Mei Lin ("Her dumplings are as memorable as cardboard.")
Jorge Castillo ("If arrogance were a spice, this man would still find a way to overuse it.")
And many, many more.
Callum tapped the napkin."Step one: Find them. Step two: Survive them. Step three: Somehow get them to feed you without poisoning you."
Felix groaned and dropped his head to the table."Why didn't the witch just turn me into a toad? It would've been less humiliating."
Callum smirked. "You're already halfway there, Marrow."
Felix grunted but smiled.There was no going back now.
If he wanted to break the curse, he needed to fix what he'd broken.Not just survive on five-star meals—but rebuild the bridges he'd spent a lifetime burning.
And he had a feeling it wasn't going to be as easy as apologizing.
Some chefs would want revenge.Some would want proof that he had changed.
And some...Some might not even be human anymore.
(Not after certain magical accidents Felix's reviews had unknowingly triggered.)
But he wasn't alone.He had Callum.He had a list.
And for once in his life...he had a purpose.
Felix grabbed the napkin, crumpled it into his pocket, and stood up.
"Alright," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Let's go make some enemies slightly less homicidal."
Callum tossed him a chef's jacket like a badge of honor.
"Welcome to the Redemption Tour, buddy."
The first stop on Felix's Redemption Tour was an old Italian restaurant in the heart of the city:"Bellini's Trattoria."
It looked the same as it had years ago—heavy wooden doors, twinkling fairy lights, and the smell of fresh basil and crushed dreams.
Felix hovered outside, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a man about to walk into traffic.
Callum clapped him on the back."Come on, Marrow. How bad could it—"
A meatball flew through the front window and splattered across the sidewalk like a tiny, angry meteor.
Callum blinked."...be."
Felix let out a long, suffering sigh."Welcome to Marco Bellini's anger management program."
—
Inside, chaos reigned.Marco Bellini—a stocky man with the mustache of a soap opera villain—was in the middle of a full-blown tirade, flinging utensils and shouting at a sous-chef about "the sacrilege of soggy spaghetti."
When Marco spotted Felix, he went still.Utterly, murderously still.
The kitchen staff scattered like frightened pigeons.
"You," Marco snarled."You have the nerve to show your greasy critic face in my sanctuary?"
Felix held up his hands in peace."I'm not here to review anything. I'm here to apologize."
Marco narrowed his eyes, crossing his thick arms."You think words can fix what you did? I lost customers because of you! Investors! My mother stopped speaking to me for six months!"
Felix winced. "I deserved that. All of it. I was... cruel. And I was wrong."
Silence.The kitchen waited with bated breath.
Finally, Marco stalked over to a huge, bubbling pot.
"If you truly seek forgiveness..." he growled, ladling out a plate of steaming, fragrant pasta, "then eat. And tell me honestly."
Felix accepted the plate like a knight receiving a holy quest.
He twirled a forkful of rich, golden spaghetti.Tasted.
It was—Spectacular.
Handmade pasta with the perfect bite.Sauce so silky it practically whispered against his tongue.
Felix swallowed, heart hammering.
"Marco," he said, voice low with awe, "this is... a masterpiece."
Marco's mustache twitched.He sniffed loudly.And then, to Felix's shock, he yanked him into a crushing bear hug.
"You're still an idiot," Marco muttered. "But maybe... not a total lost cause."
One down.
Way too many to go.
Later that night, after escaping Marco's emotional spaghetti party, Felix and Callum headed to a part of the city that didn't show up on any maps.
The streets grew darker, narrower. Lanterns flickered in windows where there should've been none.
At the end of a twisting alleyway, hidden behind a nondescript laundromat, they found it:
A tiny door, painted red.
Above it, in faded gold paint:"Mei's Dumpling House."
Callum raised an eyebrow."Are we about to get mugged or magically adopted?"
"Fifty-fifty," Felix said grimly.
He pushed the door open.
Inside, the world changed.
It wasn't a restaurant—it was a hidden world of scents and color:Silken dumplings floated on trays carried by whisper-quick waiters.There was no menu. No prices.
Only Mei Lin herself, seated cross-legged at the center of the room like a queen.
She watched Felix approach with the calm, eerie stillness of a cat who already knows exactly where you're hiding the treats.
"You dare return," she said softly.
Felix bowed, awkward but sincere.
"I come seeking forgiveness," he said. "And maybe... a dumpling or two?"
The room held its breath.
Mei's smile was slow, razor-sharp.
"Then you must pass... the Test of Tongues."
Felix blinked."...I'm sorry, the what?"
Mei clapped her hands.
Suddenly, waiters rushed forward carrying platters—each filled with dumplings that looked identical...but half were infused with magical trick spices that could cause—
Fire-breathing
Sudden temporary invisibility
Extreme honesty spells
Or random bursts of uncontrollable interpretive dance.
Callum burst out laughing. "You're so screwed, dude."
Felix sighed and picked up a dumpling.
"Bottoms up."
Felix eyed the tray of dumplings like a condemned man sizing up the firing squad.
Callum pulled out his phone, grinning like a goblin."Just so you know," he said, "this is 100% going on the internet."
Felix muttered a string of curses and picked up a dumpling.
First bite: warm, savory, a little gingery—normal.He breathed out a sigh of relief.
Second dumpling: spicy, but manageable.
Third dumpling—
His entire mouth exploded.
Fire licked up his throat, his nose, his soul—and the next thing Felix knew, he was breathing tiny jets of fire like a malfunctioning dragon.
The restaurant cheered.
Callum was wheezing with laughter, filming shamelessly."MARROW'S GOING FULL CHARMANDER!" he howled.
Felix stumbled to the water station, chugged half a pitcher, and staggered back just in time to grab another dumpling—
Poof!
He disappeared.
Totally invisible.
The room gasped.
"I'M STILL HERE," Felix shouted helplessly.His disembodied voice made a waiter drop a tray in terror.
When visibility returned a few seconds later, Felix's hair was standing straight up from the magic, and his jacket had somehow turned neon pink.
Mei Lin sat serenely through all of it, sipping tea, utterly unimpressed.
Finally, Felix staggered up to her table, red-faced, sweaty, and deeply humiliated.
He bowed again.
"I," he panted, "have tasted defeat. And also... dumplings."
Mei Lin chuckled, a sound like a stream flowing over stones.
"You have suffered," she said. "And yet you did not quit. Perhaps there is hope for you after all."
She clapped her hands, and a waiter placed a real plate of dumplings—normal, delicious, non-cursed—in front of Felix.
"Eat. You have earned it."
Felix collapsed gratefully into a chair and tucked in.
Callum slid into the seat beside him, still snickering.
"Bro, you danced for like thirty seconds."
Felix groaned and dropped his face into the table.
After the meal, Mei Lin waved Felix and Callum into a tiny back room that smelled of incense and old magic.
She lit a small paper lantern and set it floating into the air.It shimmered, forming strange symbols in the smoke.
"You seek to break your curse," Mei said. "But you do not yet understand it."
Felix straightened. "What do you mean?"
"The witch who cursed you—" Mei said softly, "—was not acting alone."
The air in the room tightened.
Callum stiffened. "There's more witches?"
"Not witches," Mei corrected. "Something older. Something... hungry."
Felix felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.
"The curse was just the first course," Mei whispered. "You, Felix Marrow... are the main dish."
The lantern flared, casting monstrous shadows across the walls.
Felix swallowed hard.
"What do I do?"
Mei smiled—a smile full of secrets and storms.
"You must become more than a critic.More than a beggar.You must become a chef of your own fate."
She pressed a tiny, folded paper into his palm.
"Seek the Hidden Kitchen," she said. "Find the truth. Before it finds you."
And then, like mist, she was gone.
Leaving Felix and Callum standing there, holding a single fragile clue...and realising that the Redemption Tour had just turned into something much bigger than forgiveness.
It had turned into a race for survival.
The city felt different now.Like it was watching them.
As Felix and Callum left Mei's dumpling house, the streetlights flickered in and out.Shadows stretched longer than they should have.Every reflection in every puddle seemed just slightly... wrong.
Felix clutched the folded paper Mei had given him like it was a lifeline.When they finally ducked into a quiet diner, Callum slammed a steaming mug of coffee in front of him.
"Alright, Marrow," Callum said, dead serious for once."Show me."
Felix unfolded the paper.
Inside was a single word, written in delicate silver ink:
"Bouchon."
Felix stared. "That's it? A word?"
Callum leaned over, frowning."Bouchon. Isn't that... French for 'cork'?"
Felix snapped his fingers. "And also the name of an ultra-exclusive pop-up restaurant. It only appears once every few years, in different cities. Invite-only."
Callum whistled low."Sounds like a magic kitchen if I've ever heard of one."
"But how do we find it?" Felix muttered.
At that moment, the TV mounted in the diner crackled to life.Static flickered—and then an old woman's face filled the screen.
It wasn't the news.It wasn't any channel.
It was her.
The Witch.
Her eyes were dark pools. Her mouth smiled, but there was nothing kind in it.
"Felix Marrow," she crooned, her voice dripping through the speakers like honey and venom,"you are doing so well. Better than I expected. But remember..."
The lights dimmed.The air grew heavy.
"Every meal you savor is a string tightening around your throat.Every kindness you earn, a nail in your own coffin.You cannot escape what you have already swallowed."
The screen went black.
Silence rang louder than any scream.
Callum looked at Felix, pale.
"That... that felt like a death threat wrapped in a Hallmark card."
Felix just stared at his reflection in the dark TV screen, heart hammering.
Whatever game he was caught in, it wasn't about apologies anymore.It wasn't just about flavor or forgiveness.
Something was feeding off him.
And if he didn't find the Hidden Kitchen first...
He wouldn't live long enough to see his redemption.
By the next morning, Felix and Callum were back on the move.
Rumors said the next Bouchon event would be in the abandoned Fairmont Theater downtown—a crumbling art deco ruin with velvet curtains thick with dust and ghosts.
The catch?You couldn't just walk in.
You had to be invited...by creating a dish so extraordinary, so unforgettable, that it left a scent in the air.
A trail for the Bouchon scouts to follow.
Which meant...
Felix Marrow, professional food critic, had to actually cook.
Callum tossed a battered apron at his head.
"Time to find out if all that sarcasm comes with skills, Gordon Ramseypants."
Felix groaned.But deep down, a small spark of excitement flared.
He wasn't just surviving anymore.He was fighting.
And he was ready to roll up his sleeves, pick up a pan...and flip destiny on its smug, cursed head.
Felix stared at the gleaming kitchen at Ember & Ash.Polished counters. Sharp knives.A terrifyingly complicated gas stove.
He turned to Callum, who was texting casually like none of this was a potential crime scene waiting to happen.
"So," Felix said grimly, tying on the apron backward, "how hard can it be? I've eaten enough food to know what not to do."
Callum didn't even look up."You're about to start a grease fire, aren't you."
Felix muttered something under his breath about optimism and believing in friends and opened the fridge.
Attempt #1:Felix tried to make handmade pasta.The dough stuck to everything—hands, hair, somehow even Callum's jacket—until Callum banned him from using flour for the rest of eternity.
Attempt #2:Felix thought flambéing something would be dramatic.
It was.
They had to open all the windows and pray no one called the fire department.
Attempt #3:Desperate, Felix whipped together a weird fusion dish:Smoky truffle ravioli in a spicy miso broth with crispy duck cracklings.
Callum sniffed it, skeptical."It looks like soup that murdered someone."
But when Felix tasted it—
His whole soul lit up.
There was something there.Something real.Spicy and sharp and deep.A dish that punched you and hugged you at the same time.
It wasn't perfect.But it was him.
Felix plated it carefully, heart pounding.The smell hung in the kitchen like a song only hungry ghosts could hear.
He had made something.
For the first time ever...he wasn't just criticizing art.
He was creating it.
As night fell, the scent of Felix's dish drifted through the city like a secret.
Somewhere, he knew, the Bouchon scouts would smell it.Would come.
But Felix wasn't alone in the dark.
From across the street, a woman watched.Her hair was silver as starlight.Her eyes were sharp as broken glass.
She wasn't the witch who cursed him.
She was something worse.
The Collector.
A creature that fed on broken promises and unfinished dreams.And right now, she was starving.
With a flick of her fingers, she summoned a shadow.
It slithered through the cracked window of Ember & Ash, unseen.
Toward the counter where Felix's dish sat, cooling in the soft light.
Toward the dream he had just barely started to believe in.
In the kitchen, Callum yawned.
"Think we'll get a magic invitation tonight?"
Felix grinned tiredly."Honestly, at this point, I'd settle for no more spontaneous combustion."
Suddenly, the lights flickered.
The air turned cold.
Something moved at the edge of Felix's vision—a smear of darkness, a snatch of wrongness.
And then—
CRASH.
The dish—the precious, fragile dish—shattered across the floor.
Felix gasped.Callum cursed, spinning toward the broken plate.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Felix dropped to his knees, heart in his throat.
There was nothing left to salvage.
All his hope.All his effort.
Gone.
Ruined.
And in the distance...a whisper of laughter on the wind.
Callum crouched beside him.
"Marrow," he said quietly, gripping his shoulder. "It's not over."
Felix shook his head, stunned."You don't get it. I don't have time to start over. The scouts—Bouchon—"
He didn't finish.
Because at that moment, a strange, soft glow began to rise from the shattered dish.
Callum's mouth fell open.Felix blinked.
The flavor — the essence of what he had made — was still there.Floating in the air like golden mist.
Like a promise too strong to be broken by sabotage.
Like a signal.
A bell tolled, low and sweet, from somewhere deep in the city.
A voice, ancient and kind, seemed to whisper through the mist:
"The Hidden Kitchen awaits you, Felix Marrow."
Callum whooped.Felix laughed, half in shock, half in joy.
He had done it.
They had found him.
But as they raced into the night toward the Fairmont Theater, neither of them saw the silver-haired woman melt into the shadows behind them—
smiling.
Because she wasn't trying to stop Felix.
No.
She was inviting him in.
Exactly where she wanted him.
The Fairmont Theater loomed ahead—an ancient skeleton of marble and crumbling stone, wrapped in mist.
Felix and Callum skidded to a halt at the foot of the cracked marble steps.
Above the grand entrance, the faded carving read:
"All Who Enter, Leave Full... or Not at All."
Felix swallowed.
"I hate how ominous that sounds," he muttered.
Callum grinned nervously. "It's fine. Probably just old marketing."
They climbed the stairs.
The heavy double doors were shut tight.
No handle. No lock. No knocker.
Only a small bronze plaque, tarnished and green with age:
"Present Your Flavor."
Felix blinked.
Then he remembered the golden mist still clinging to him—the lingering scent of the dish he'd created.
He hesitated, then reached out and pressed his palm flat against the plaque.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then—click—the doors shivered open.
A warm, rich scent spilled out: roasted meats, spiced wine, honeyed breads.
It hit Felix like a punch straight to the soul.
Inside... was a world unlike anything he had ever known.
The Fairmont Theater had transformed.
Where there should've been rows of dusty seats, there were tables draped in shimmering cloth.Candles floated midair, their flames the color of ripe peaches and deep violets.Silverware glinted, alive with its own sly magic.
And at the very center of the room, on a raised dais, stood a single table set for two.
Waiting.
A waiter approached—tall, thin, skin like old parchment, eyes like candle flames.
He bowed low.
"Welcome, Felix Marrow," he said, voice creaking like an old door."You have earned your seat at the Hidden Kitchen."
Felix opened his mouth to answer—but the waiter held up a gloved hand.
"There is a price," he said solemnly."A dish must be prepared. Not for critics. Not for fame.But for your greatest regret."
The candlelight dimmed.
Felix's stomach turned.
"My... regret?"
The waiter nodded.
"You must feed it. You must satisfy it. Or be devoured by it."
He gestured to a gleaming kitchen that had somehow materialized along one wall:a fantasy of stoves, knives, and ingredients Felix had no name for.
And he wasn't alone.
Across the room, shadowy figures were emerging—other cursed souls, other chefs, all racing against their own regrets.
Felix took a deep breath.
He thought about the careers he'd destroyed.The friends he'd lost.The bridges he had gleefully burned in the name of "honesty."
He thought about the emptiness that fame hadn't filled.
He thought about the part of him that had always been hungry—not for food, but for something he didn't even have words for yet.
Callum squeezed his shoulder.
"You've got this, man," he whispered.
Felix smiled, shaky but real.
And then he stepped into the kitchen of dreams...to cook not just for his life—
But for his soul.
Felix moved like a man possessed.
He didn't reach for the fanciest ingredients.He didn't try to impress with truffles or gold leaf.
Instead, he pulled from memory.
He remembered the first meal he ever loved—a simple bowl of his grandmother's chicken soup, heavy with garlic and ginger and love.
He remembered the first time food had healed him, not hurt him.
He remembered home.
He simmered broth until it glowed.He slow-roasted roots until they sang sweetness.He kneaded dough with the memory of every apology he had never made.
The kitchen whispered around him.
The walls breathed.
The other chefs faltered, some collapsing in exhaustion, others swallowed by the darkness at the edges of the room.
But Felix kept going.
Not for fame.Not even to save himself.
But because he meant it.
Finally, he plated a simple, humble meal:A steaming bowl of soup.Warm bread.A sprig of herbs, fresh and bright.
He carried it to the dais, heart hammering.
The shadow of his regret waited there—a monstrous, twisted thing made of every cruel word he had ever spoken, every wound he had ever laughed at.
It leaned down, sniffing the dish.
Felix held his ground.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly."And I'm trying."
The creature—his regret—took a bite.
For a terrible moment, nothing happened.
Then—
The monster shuddered.Cracks split its black surface.Light spilled out.
And with a final, shuddering sigh, it dissolved into a thousand motes of gold.
The candles brightened.
The room exhaled.
Felix fell to his knees, gasping, shaking, overwhelmed by the weight that lifted from him.
He wasn't perfect.He never would be.
But he was free.