WINTER
The next morning, Braxton took me to the lake to practice magic, which sounded much more official than it felt given that he brought two breakfast rolls, a stolen jar of honey, and what he claimed was an emergency cheese.
“This is voluntary,” he said as we crossed the lower terrace, offering me half a roll. “Also educational. Also breakfast-adjacent, which makes it at least twice as legitimate.” “That is a lot of qualifiers for a walk.”
“I contain legal nuance.” He took an enormous bite of his roll and looked far too pleased with himself for someone who had appointed himself assistant instructor without asking anyone’s permission. “Besides, you said you wanted to understand what you can do. I have questions.” “That sounds ominous.”
“Curious,” Braxton corrected. “There is a di
