One minute we were vibing, the next, smoke. brushes. chaos.

He hit all five hives like a sticky-fingered ninja, swiping 20 frames of our finest work. Hive 5 took the biggest L.

We followed the thief, only to watch our honey get spun, strained, and bucketed like it was no big deal.

He returned the empty frames like it was some kind of favor. Two got left out. We swarmed. We grieved. We licked the leftovers.

Not cool, Erik. Not cool.