By the time I returned, Mira had claimed the sweetroll by invoking an obscure clause in our classroom's "Finders-Keepers Food Treaty." Julien objected. Wallace demanded a recount. Felix suggested splitting it into equal parts, and Leo proposed burning it to prevent further conflict.
I walked past them and tossed the bone-tied scroll onto the table. It landed with a heavy thunk.
They all shut up.
"Is that...?" Mira leaned forward.
"Yes," I said. "An invitation. Or a threat. Possibly both."
Garrick, who'd been quiet up to now, furrowed his brow. "From who?"
I looked him in the eye. "That's the fun part. I don't know."
Felix nearly fainted.
Later that night, I sat in the living room—feet up, tea in hand, the scroll unrolled on the table like a cursed relic in a horror movie.
The message inside was elegant, full of cryptic wording and obnoxiously expensive calligraphy. Every capital letter was hand-etched in mana-ink. Whoever made this had too much time and not enough friends.
