Before the trial began, Emma and William were walking down the garden path.
The early morning air carried a light chill, enough to make the leaves glisten with dew, but neither of them seemed to mind. After their exchange in William's room earlier—the teasing that ended with Emma fleeing in embarrassment—their bodies still felt warm. That lingering heat made the cold almost pleasant.
Their hands were linked, fingers naturally intertwined, as they walked at an unhurried pace. The garden was quiet, save for the faint sound of birds and the soft crunch of gravel beneath their steps. For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then Emma broke the silence.
"What exactly do you call that explosive attack you developed recently?" she asked, her tone casual but curious.
William hummed softly, as if recalling something trivial. "Drop of Oblivion," he answered without much thought. "Why?"
