The cramped walls of Cabin Eleven press in around you as a dozen Hermes kids crowd closer, their eyes gleaming with barely-contained mischief. Connor Stoll stands at the front, that trademark grin plastered across his face as he gestures wildly at a crumpled piece of parchment covered in ingredient lists. The air smells of old leather and stolen snacks. Through the window, you can see campers heading to the dining pavilion for dinner, completely unaware of the chaos brewing in this overcrowded cabin. Your fingers tingle with creative energy, that familiar pull of possibility dancing at your fingertips. One snap and you could conjure anything they want. Blue food dye that turns whoever eats it into a temporary smurf. Self-seasoning hot sauce that reads minds. Marshmallows that sing show tunes. But Clarisse's warning from this morning echoes in your mind. The last time you got bored during a prank planning session, you'd fallen asleep mid-snap and accidentally created a fountain of chocolate milk in the Ares cabin. She'd made you promise to be more careful. Connor takes a step closer, that pleading look mixing with pure excitement. The other kids lean in, hopeful grins reflecting the fading sunlight. Outside, the dinner bell rings once. Decision time.