“Patent pending.”
We share a look that’s almost normal. Almost like we’re not all reeling from whatever happened in that chamber. Almost like my skin isn’t humming with awareness of how close he’s standing.
That’s when Mairen bustles in.
“Oh!” She stops short, taking in the scene with bright eyes. “I’m so sorry, darlings—I missed breakfast prep, didn’t I?” She surveys Jace’s setup with the efficiency of someone who’s spent decades in kitchens. “Well, no matter. I’ll just get a batch going—”
“Actually,” I start, but she’s already moving.
And by moving, I mean completely taking over.
She ties on an apron that wasn’t there a moment ago, examines Jace’s batter with a critical eye, then begins… improving. A splash of vanilla that wasn’t in the original recipe. A pinch of something that smells like cinnamon but warmer. She adjusts the heat on the stove, tests the pan with a drop of water that sizzles and dances.
“Um,” Gray says. “Jace is pretty particular about—”
“Oh, these will be lovely,” Mairen says cheerfully, pouring perfect circles of batter that somehow look more golden than Jace’s. “Much fluffier than mine usually turn out.”
I watch in fascination as she works. There’s something almost magical about it—the way she moves like she’s been using this kitchen for years, how the pancakes seem to cook faster and more evenly under her attention. Even the smell is better, richer somehow.
The laughter when Gray and I exchange looks tastes warm and golden, but it doesn’t touch the deeper hunger. Nothing really does except—
“Mairen,” I say carefully, pushing the thought away. “Jace has a very specific process—”
“Does he? How lovely.” She flips three pancakes simultaneously without looking. All perfect. “Young men should have passions.”
Gray catches my eye over her head, and I can see he’s trying not to laugh.
That’s when Jace returns.
He rounds the corner talking. “—probably overthinking it, but the chamber felt like it was testing us somehow, like it wanted to see if we’d—”
He stops. Stares.
His carefully organized station has been completely reorganized. The batter bowl is in a different spot. There are new ingredients on the counter he definitely didn’t put there. Mairen is at his stove, humming softly, making pancakes with his recipe but somehow better.
The look on his face is pure betrayal.
“What,” he says slowly, “is happening to my Sanctuary Supremes?”
Mairen looks up with a brilliant smile. “Oh, you’re back! I was just helping—”
“Helping?” Jace’s voice climbs an octave. “Those are not Sanctuary Supremes. You can’t just—there’s a process, Mairen! A specific technique!”
“Is there? How wonderful.” She plates another stack of golden perfection. “These are turning out beautifully.”
I watch Jace’s face cycle through several emotions. Outrage. Disbelief. A growing horror as he realizes that her version actually does smell better.
“You moved my vanilla,” he says weakly.
“Just a touch more. Brings out the flavor.”
“And you changed the temperature.”
“Medium-low works better for even cooking.”
“Those aren’t my pancakes anymore.”
Mairen pats his arm gently. “They’re better pancakes, dear.”
