The sun was warm, drawing lines of sweat on Ille’s skin. Sighing, she tented her book over her face and sucked in a musty breath. Something scratched her supine calf, and she swatted it away. The book lifted off her face.
“Go to class, Lo,” Ille said, squinting up at Logan.
He grinned and used her bookmark to trace a glyph across her belly. “It’s stifling in the interior.” Logan gestured dramatically at the spacious observation field. “Out here, I can breathe.”
“Out here, you won’t get in trouble.”
“How was I to know the torrefy spell would actually work?”