Isabelle, who had been observing the entire catastrophic sequence of events with the detached composure of a monarch watching peasants revolt, finally released a long, elegant sigh. It was the kind of sigh that carried the weight of centuries of aristocratic disappointment, the exhalation of someone who had anticipated disaster but had allowed it to unfold for anthropological purposes.

She reached into the pocket of her cashmere lounge pants and extracted her datapad, her movements precise and economical, like a surgeon preparing to excise a particularly offensive tumor from society's body.

"This is inedible," she stated, her voice smooth as aged wine but leaving absolutely no room for debate or negotiation. Her crimson eyes swept over the culinary battlefield with the clinical assessment of one who had sampled fare from the finest establishments across three continents. "I'm ordering pizza from The Gilded Griffin's Hearth. It's the only acceptable pizzeria on the Atoll that meets even basic standards of quality. Their dough is properly fermented for seventy-two hours, and their wood-fired oven reaches the correct temperature for optimal crust development."

"You can just... do that?" Malachi asked, looking up from his own untouched plate, his dark eyes wide with something approaching wonder. The scholar's voice held the reverence of someone witnessing a minor miracle. "Like, they'll deliver here? To the Onyx Hounds residence? I thought most places blacklisted this address after the incident with Julian's flaming sword last semester."

"Of course." Isabelle's slender fingers began dancing across her screen. "Money exists to solve problems. This is a problem. What does everyone want?"

A collective sigh of relief swept through the assembled group like a wave breaking on the shore. The tension that had been building evaporated instantly. Even Jaime himself looked grateful for the intervention, though he tried to hide it behind a sheepish grin.

"MEAT LOVERS!" Both Jaime and Hikari shouted.

"Vegetarian for me, please," Emi added softly, raising one hand like a student asking permission to speak.

"Extra cheese," Juan called out from his position on the living room couch, still not bothering to lift his arm from his eyes. "And stuffed crust if they have it. Actually, make it two. One for now, one for later."

"Pepperoni and mushroom," I added, because I might as well take advantage of Isabelle's largesse.

The order was placed with smooth efficiency, Isabelle's fingers flying across her screen as she input everyone's preferences without needing to ask for clarification twice.

Just as Isabelle finalized the payment, Carmen materialized in the kitchen doorway, her previous absence during the culinary fiasco now explained by the half-drained bottle of amber liquid dangling from her fingertips. This wasn't corner-store hooch—it was the kind of whiskey that came nestled in velvet, accompanied by a gold-embossed certificate tracing its prestigious lineage.

Her single visible green eye had that unfocused sheen of someone several drinks deep into oblivion. She swayed precariously, using the doorframe for stability, a warm flush spreading across her cheeks. Her instructor's shirt was even more disheveled than usual, with an additional button having given up the fight to contain her.

"Food's on the way," I said, keeping my voice deliberately neutral while studying her condition.

She acknowledged me with an excessively formal nod that nearly threw off her balance, the movement so deliberate it seemed choreographed. "Smart move, kiddo. Very smart," she slurred, punctuating each word with a slight rock forward. "Tactical thinking." She tapped her temple with the neck of the bottle. "I like that in my students. Shows... shows survival instincts. Very important quality in a Hunter. Very important."

"So..." Emi clapped her hands together, the sound sharp in the relative quiet. Her expression brightened with forced cheer. "Maybe while we wait for the pizza, we could all go change into something more comfortable? You know, really settle in for the evening?"

There was a general murmur of agreement, and the group began to disperse toward the stairs and their assigned rooms. I headed to mine, grateful for a few minutes of solitude to assess the situation and plan my next moves.

I changed into a simple black shirt and dark gray sweatpants—comfortable enough to lounge in but practical enough that I could move if I needed to.

When I made my way back down to the main living area, I was treated to what could only be described as a parade of revealing sleepwear that would have made a Victoria's Secret runway show look modest by comparison.

Natalia had opted for a form-fitting purple tank top that clung to her curves like a second skin, the fabric thin enough that I could see the outline of her bra beneath it, and black yoga pants that looked like they'd been painted directly onto her body.

Every line, every curve, every inch of her incredible figure was on full, shameless display. When she caught me looking—and she absolutely noticed, because Natalia noticed everything—she gave me a slow, predatory smirk that clearly communicated: This is exactly what you're missing out on tonight, and I want you to suffer for it.

Emi bounced down the stairs in an oversized pink sweater that hung off one shoulder, revealing a tantalizing expanse of smooth, pale skin and the thin strap of whatever she was wearing underneath.

Her pajama shorts were tiny, showing off the full length of her toned legs. The outfit managed to be both adorable and devastatingly sexy in a way that seemed entirely unintentional.

When she realized I was looking, a flush of pink bloomed across her cheeks, and she quickly turned away to busy herself with arranging paper plates on the counter.

Akari had apparently interpreted "comfortable sleepwear" as "audition for a lingerie catalog." Her tiny crop top barely qualified as clothing, leaving her toned midriff completely bare and doing absolutely nothing to contain her impressive bust. The matching booty shorts were so small they should have come with a warning label, leaving virtually nothing to the imagination and drawing my eyes immediately to the full, round curve of her ass.

She caught me staring and winked. Next to her, Hikari wore practical athletic wear—a sports bra and compression shorts—and was already in the middle of doing leg stretches, utterly oblivious to her sister's performance.

"Always be ready for action!" Hikari announced to the room at large, her voice bright with enthusiasm as she dropped into a perfect split in the middle of the living room floor.

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