And the sound, the shape of it, shamed me. Because it wasn’t fear in my voice.
The burn travelled down my spine in a molten ripple. A heat that didn’t stop at my chest. No. It curled deeper, sank lower. My stomach twisted, clenching hard as my thighs pulled tight. The fire made a cruel, aching stop in my core.
My stomach turned.
No. Never. I shouldn’t feel that.
I raised my hands and shoved him away.
Or at least I tried to.
My palms hit his chest, but the movement was…empty. Because it wasn’t my force that caused him to step back. It was his own, as if he had already decided the moment was over.
He moved back exactly one step and stopped, gaze unreadable, his hand falling calmly to his side like he hadn’t just scorched my skin and rewritten every line of decency in my mind.
“You’re hungry. Come and sit,” he said, and I wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a mockery.
“No, I’m fine. Thanks.”
He cocked his head slightly, and for a second I thought he might let it go. But he said, “It wasn’t a question.”
Then he turned and walked away.
I stood there, my jaw clenched, throat dry. The scent of the food hit me again, making my stomach growl. I swallowed, tucking my hair behind my ear like it would somehow restore dignity, and before I could stop myself, my feet betrayed me.
They followed him.
He went behind the counter, wordless again, resuming whatever he’d been doing with plates and food.
I took the seat opposite him. Sat right in front of the spot where he’d set one of the plates down. Where the steam curled into the air and drifted towards me, carrying with it something so warm, so savoury, it hit a nerve.
My stomach growled again. Louder.
I sat straighter, defensively, trying to pretend it hadn’t happened.
“Why do you think I’d eat your food?” I asked. “Because I’m hungry doesn’t mean I’m desperate. I don’t even know what you are.”
“Human,” he said, barely glancing at me.
I scoffed. “One with no shadow.”
“Unfortunately.”
“How is that even possible?”
He turned fully this time, picked up one of the plates, and scooped something from the stove onto it, steam rising in ribbons. He brought it to me and set it down gently.
The scent of it wafted up again, spicy, smoky and buttery. My stomach twisted, roaring inside me like a beast unleashed.
“One question a day, yeah?”
I blinked. “What?”
He looked me straight in the eye. “A question per day. You get to ask me one. In return, you don’t ever panic like that again.”
I frowned, confused by the terms. Why did he care if I panicked? Why did he want to limit my questions?
But I wasn’t stupid. If he wanted rules, I could find ways around them. I adjusted in my seat and cleared my throat. “So my question for today is—”
