The kitchen's heat had eased now that dinner service was ending. Freshly washed pots gleamed in the dim light, and the lingering aroma of spices hung in the air.
Fern Patinders untied her apron with a relieved sigh as her husband, Reed Patinder, stored the last knives in their rack. Her hands, weathered by decades of culinary work, moved with practiced efficiency.
Reed's fingers, marked with the occasional scar from ancient cuts, also displayed the precision and grace that only years of experience could bestow.
"Everything ready?" Fern asked, tucking a strand of grayish hair back under her cap. Though lately, she'd noticed a few small strands seemingly regaining their color, just like they had eleven years ago.
Reed nodded as he wiped down the work surface one final time.
"Perfectly clean, as it should be," he replied with a tired but satisfied smile.
The restaurant owner entered the kitchen while counting the day's earnings, crystals clinking softly between his fingers.
