Opal's POV
The scent hit her before she even turned the corner.
"Oh gods," Opal muttered, stopping mid-step. "What is that?"
Kael, at her side, sniffed the air and grimaced. "Is that... pudding?"
They emerged into the clearing near the south border where Forrest had apparently decided to stage his grand weapons showcase. A dozen strange contraptions were strewn across the grassy expanse, looking like something between medieval siege weapons and toddler art projects.
And right in the middle of it all stood Ridge.
Still covered in a faint sheen of what looked like expired chocolate pudding.
"Don't. Say. A word," Ridge growled as Opal and Kael approached. "I'm here under protest."
"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Forrest called from across the clearing, where he was adjusting the tension on a crossbow made from old chair legs and a whisk. "You smell like baked goods. You should be thanking me."
