“On it,” he responds, jogging toward the pantry. He returns a few moments later,

and we swap places.

“Make sure to turn the duck and sear it evenly,” I call out as I begin to mix the

ingredients together to make the dough. “Use the red wine for moisture. Yeah,

just like that, perfect…”

When the buzzer blares, signaling the end of the round, I step back and take a

look at my dish.

It’s beautiful—each element perfectly executed, just like I rehearsed a million

times in my head. The plate practically glows under the stage lights, and I can’t

Enter title…

but feel a surge of pride

way around, forks

as they reach Daniel’s station. He

creation. My heart pounds in my chest, each

echoing my mounting anxiety.

they come

gentlemen,” I say, pushing

rendition of duck pâté en croûte. I

I believe adds

bite and nods approvingly, her eyes meeting mine in

of respect. The second

then, there’s Logan—the Logan—chef extraordinaire and owner of

the world.

a

stretch out like hours as he chews slowly,

And then, a small grimace.

down

pepper

punch to the gut. The

in on itself.

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