---
Fizz tried. He tried very hard. He tried the way a starving man tries to convince himself that a single crumb is a feast. He floated in front of John's face on the walk to class and whispered about "historic hatch day snacks" and "the sacred duty of buying pastries" and "the spiritual health of newborn creatures." He even tried to bribe John with the promise of not arguing for a whole hour, which was an illegal promise in Fizz law.
John still did not celebrate.
He walked like a person carrying a glass cup full of something dangerous. He kept his steps steady. He kept his face neutral. He kept his mana above the line in his chest that his instincts had drawn.
Inside him, the bond-thread with Nyx was still new.
It felt like a thin wire under his ribs. Not painful. Just present. A reminder that something existed in the dark behind his reality, waiting, listening, learning.
