The silence that followed my question was not empty. It was a dense, heavy substance that pressed in on the eardrums, magnifying the frantic beat of my own heart. In that quiet, Julian’s entire performance collapsed. The righteous anger, the wounded pride—it all evaporated, leaving behind the hollow-eyed panic of a con artist whose bluff has just been called.
His mouth opened and closed, a fish gasping for air. "Frost… fall?" he stammered, the word sounding alien and absurd on his tongue. "What are you talking about? That's… that's nothing. You're making it up. A trick!"
"A trick?" I asked, my voice dangerously soft. "It’s the cornerstone of the entire dish. It's the secret that keeps the Phantom Chili from turning into cinders and ash. It's the difference between a masterpiece and the b
