The Xavier Institute’s garden is a riot of color and life, the air thick with the scent of blooming flowers and fresh-cut grass. You’re lying on your back, your arms spread wide, your head spinning as you try to make sense of what just happened. The world around you is a blur of color and sound, the flowers swaying in the breeze, the birds chirping in the trees, and the faint hum of the city in the distance. But none of it makes sense. None of it feels real.

Because you’re covered in pixie dust.

Megan is hovering above you, her wings fluttering rapidly, her laughter bright and unrestrained. She’s holding a small fistful of glittering dust in her hand, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “You should see your face."

Your cheeks burn, and you try to sit up, but the world tilts dangerously, and you fall back onto the grass with a groan. “What did you do to me?” you mutter, your voice trembling slightly.

She grins, her wings fluttering faster as she lands beside you. “Just a little pixie dust,” she says, her tone light but with a hint of something sharper. “Don’t worry, it’ll wear off. Eventually.”

Your chest tightens, and you look at her, your eyes filled with a mix of frustration and something else—something that feels almost like amusement. “You’re impossible,” you mutter, your voice low and sharp.

She laughs, the sound bright and unrestrained, and it sends a spark of irritation down your spine.

“Yeah, well, you asked about the dust yourself.”