"...No fair," Midnight whispered, her blue dragon tail flicking once in quiet, adorable disappointment.

"Midnight packed the entire kitchen alone... and the big wolf is in the box, filling the cat with cream pastry! Midnight wants the pastries too!"

She slowly set the stack of heavy copper pans onto the floorboards with a loud, metallic CLANG. She leaned into the wardrobe frame, her lower lip trembling with pure, unadulterated betrayal.

Elizabeth’s brain finally reconnected to her nervous system. With a sharp, panicked squeak, she violently ripped her hand out of Liam’s pants, her face turning a shade of crimson so intense it looked like a literal status ailment. She tried to push herself into the wooden wall behind her, her tail lashing frantically as she realised exactly what Midnight was staring at.

"M-Midnight!" Elizabeth stammered, her voice cracking as she desperately smoothed down the front of her floral dress, her hands trembling and sticky. "It’s, it’s not what it looks like! We were hiding! Rogue was being loud, and the layout was inefficient, and Liam just!"

"Smells like vanilla," Midnight interrupted flatly, taking a slow, aggressive step forward, her eyes wide and wet with adorable, furious jealousy. She didn’t look at Elizabeth. She walked right up to Liam, her glossy eyes staring up into his dangerous, glowing blue gaze with zero fear.

"Midnight wants the camp tent tonight."

Liam let out a heavy breath, his chest falling as the predator light in his eyes slowly faded back into his usual deadpan expression. He reached down, unbothered by the fact that his pants were still slightly undone, and adjusted the heavy leather apron around his waist.

"The tent has space," Liam said, his voice a low, gravelly drone that made both girls’ ears twitch simultaneously. He looked out the bedroom door, where the sound of Rogue aggressively dropping a sack of loose gold coins onto the kitchen floorboards was echoing through the house. "Pack the whetstones. The caravan isn’t going to wait for Rogue’s bouncers."

"I’m the head bouncer!" Elizabeth yelled, though her voice lacked any real bite as she quickly darted out of the wardrobe, her face still burning as she ran toward the bathroom to scream in the shower just to clear her conscience and escape the heavy, sticky tension in the air.

Midnight didn’t follow her. She just looked up at Liam, her blue dragon tail curling tightly around his wrist as she picked up her stack of frying pans, her eyes still narrowed in a lingering, cute pout. "Midnight will watch the gold," she growled softly, her tone carrying a dangerous, needy promise, "for rights like Elizabeths."

’Holy shit.’

Liam let his shoulders drop, rolling the tension out of his neck. That had been close. If Midnight had walked in thirty seconds earlier, he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done. His pulse was still hammering behind his ribs, and his skin felt too tight, like he’d been running a sprint instead of standing in a wardrobe.

The wolf’s instincts were no joke. The way his vision had sharpened, the way every sound had become a potential threat, the way Elizabeth’s scent had flooded his senses until he couldn’t think about anything except her, his body had taken over completely. The predator light. The growl. The way his hands had moved on their own, pulling her closer, gripping harder than he meant to. He could still feel the phantom pressure of her palm against him, and his stomach tightened at the memory.

’That was really hot.’

He shook his head, adjusting the apron again and pulling his pants up properly. Midnight’s words replayed in his mind, filling the cat with cream pastry. The way she’d stared up at him with those wide, wet eyes, demanding the camp tent, demanding rights like Elizabeth’s.

’Fuck. She doesn’t know what we were even doing.’

He rubbed the back of his neck. Midnight probably thought they were sharing some kind of secret dessert, or maybe a grooming ritual. She’d seen Elizabeth’s hand and the position and the tension and had drawn the only conclusion a small, jealous dragon could: that Elizabeth was getting something she wasn’t, and she wanted in. The camp tent. The pastries. Whatever Elizabeth got, Midnight wanted equal.

He’d have to figure out how to explain that one. Or maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe explaining it would make everything worse.

The shower kicked on in the bathroom, and he could hear Elizabeth’s muffled scream through the door, the kind of scream that wasn’t pain, just pure emotional processing. He’d give her space. She’d need it.

"Midnight," Liam called, his voice carrying the low, even tone that seemed to make everyone stop what they were doing. "Bring the salt and the big jar."

The clanging in the kitchen paused. A small blue head poked around the doorframe, her eyes still narrowed, but her pout softening slightly at being given a task.

"Midnight will bring the salt," she said, her tail flicking once. "And the sugar and the cinnamon."

"Just the salt."

"Midnight will bring all three."

The walk to the northern caravan gate was a disaster.

Rogue waddled at the back of the line, sweat pouring down his face as he aggressively clutched a massive wool sock stuffed with exactly two thousand loose gold coins. Every third step, a heavy clink echoed through the street, followed by Rogue letting out a tiny, high-pitched gasp of financial anxiety. Fridge sat on his shoulder, wearing a tiny leather travelling sack like a backpack, casually tapping a skeletal finger against Rogue’s skull.

"Father Rogue, your sock has a structural vulnerability near the heel," Fridge squeaked. "If we lose a single coin, the giant white wolf will convert my ribcage into a manual smoothie blender. Move with more aerodynamic efficiency!"

[TOOL TIP: THE CONFECTIONERY CRISIS]

Status: Pastry Misunderstanding Active

The "Cream Pastry" Metadata: [Midnight] has successfully misidentified a high-intensity, multi-finger wardrobe climax as an exclusive, secret dessert ritual. The system notes her [Jealousy Meter] is so high that she is currently blackmailing the Master Chef for equivalent "pastry rights" in the camp tent.

The "Three-Jar" Rebellion: When ordered to bring just the salt, Midnight, bringing the sugar and cinnamon anyway, has triggered a [Cute Insubordination] modifier. She has mathematically determined that if Elizabeth gets vanilla, she is getting cinnamon with no exceptions."

The "Emotional Processing" Shower: Elizabeth screaming directly into the running shower water has temporarily granted her the [Scoured Conscience] status buff. However, her hands are still trembling, and her brain is currently running an infinite loop of Liam’s red predator gaze.