Camulus's room, Sunday evening
Camulus really had no idea how he had managed to get himself into this situation. Making noodles for Orlin, of all people. That irritating little Ancient who knew exactly how to get under his skin. He scowled at the noodles. They didn't even have the good grace to burn so their dinner would be ruined. He glanced at the clock. Five minutes to seven. Enough time to run?