The alleyway smelled like damp stone, regret, and a hint of cinnamon that clung to my coat like a clingy ex. My crew—Lilith, Vorren, Jex, and Mister Fog—huddled around me, panting from our sprint out of the palace's secret tunnels. The glow of the First Loaf's crumbs still dusted my sleeves, making me look like a human pastry fresh from the oven. I felt alive, like I could punch a dragon and win. Or at least convince it to share its hoard over a nice brunch.
I clapped my hands, sending a puff of magical flour into the air. "Right, team! Breakfast time! Who's up for some victory waffles?"
Lilith's glare could've curdled milk. "Cecil, you just ate the First Loaf, a sacred artifact that's probably cursed. The entire Pastry Guild wants to turn you into a pie. And you want waffles?"
"Exactly," I said, grinning. "Nothing says 'I'm unstoppable' like a stack of syrup-drenched carbs."
