He catches me observing him and grumbles, "You need to eat dinner, and I highly doubt your pet lizard can manage cooking tonight." "There's a dining hall," I point out. "The one full of legacies who would try to kill you in a heartbeat? Yeah, that's not happening." I give him a deadpan look. "I just gave you all a front-row seat to the fact that I excel at homicide. Shocking as it may be, picking up food is well within my wheelhouse." But when I turn away, a foot-thick sheet of ice crackles into existence, blocking the front door. Everett hasn't even looked up from digging in the fridge.
