SERAPHINA’S POV
Dinner with Maya was the first true pause I’d had in days.
Both of us too exhausted to go home and bother with cooking, we sat tucked into a corner booth of the OTS dining hall, where the scent of roasting lamb mingled with garlic and rosemary.
A steady hum of voices filled the space—students, instructors, even a few of the early-arrived guests spilling over from the hotel’s luxury dining rooms.
The table between us was scattered with dishes: Maya’s plate piled high, mine half-picked through.
She had been just as swamped as I was, maybe more. But now, with both of us finally seated, there was something almost giddy about the release.
“Please tell me I’m not the only one who wants to strangle half the guests,” Maya said, stabbing her fork through a hunk of lamb and pointing it at me like a weapon.
“Half?” I raised an eyebrow. “You’re being generous.”
