Of course, I didn't open the note right away. I'm reckless, not stupid. Beside, Henry and I were starving, first of all. Second, infiltrating a Mage Tower without checking its perimeter was a fantastic way to die dramatically and anonymously, and I had already done dramatic deaths in a previous life. Zero stars. Do not recommend.
So we followed the flow of apprentices toward the canteen. Calling it a canteen was an insult.
This place was a five-star buffet wearing academic robes. Polished marble floors. Floating chandeliers. Enchanted trays that refilled themselves. Warm bread that smelled like butter and forgiveness. Steaming dishes from every region of Maden and beyond—stews rich with mana herbs, roasted meats glazed in honey, fruit so fresh it practically hummed.
Henry stopped dead in his tracks.
"…boss," he whispered. "This is where our tax money went."
