For one long, ridiculous heartbeat, everyone just stared.
The phoenix man—half-submerged, dripping gold water and confusion—stared at Isabella. Isabella, still on her butt with her hair sticking to her face, stared back. Glimora, perched like a trembling marshmallow on her shoulder, blinked her big sparkly eyes and squeaked nervously.
And then there were the little creatures—the glowing, winged, glitter-bug-looking things that lived around the pond. They'd all stopped midair, tiny wings buzzing like a broken orchestra. Even they were watching, probably wondering if they should be preparing popcorn or running for their lives.
The only one unfazed was Bubu.
The system just hovered there in midair, its eyes flickering lazily like: This is above my pay grade.
Finally, Isabella broke the silence—her voice a half-whisper, half-scream as she spoke through her mind.
