Kael and Freya ate in silence at first. Freya remained poised, her back straight, her expression unreadable. But Kael kept the conversation light, easy.
"This is really good," he said, taking another bite. "Didn't expect you to cook like this. Where'd you learn?"
Freya chewed thoughtfully before answering. "Picked it up over the years. Had to eat somehow."
Her words were clipped, but not dismissive. A hint of something lingered beneath them—experience, survival. Kael didn't push, but he listened, catching the faintest hints of her past slipping through. A vague mention of a foster home kitchen. A note of pride when she talked about perfecting flavors.
Bit by bit, without meaning to, she shared small pieces of herself.
The tension between them eased, if only slightly, replaced by the quiet rhythm of a shared meal.
When their plates were empty, Kael stood, gathering the dishes. "Thanks for lunch," he said, offering a small, genuine smile.
