[Being Edited]
The peaceful lull of the tea parlor was deceptive—like the eye of a storm. Even as Verena leaned back in her chair, savoring the unreasonably delicious cinnamon tea Vivienne had selected, she knew better than to trust the Weave's mercy for too long.
Thirty minutes. That's what the system said. Which meant they had exactly twenty-nine left before the next cosmic monstrosity kicked in their proverbial door.
Isolde sipped her tea with practiced grace, legs crossed, pinky out, as if she were seated at a royal banquet and not at a conjured mirage between two deadly trials. "So," she said dryly, "what do you think Trial Three will be? More beasts? Puzzle rooms? Another terrifying metaphor for repressed trauma?"
"Honestly," Verena muttered, "I'd take another beast. At least you can stab those."
Vivienne giggled into her teacup. "You know… You're very scary, but in a comforting way."
"That's not a real compliment," Verena said.
