“Already did,” I said. “If this Accord thing fails, I’m opening a restaurant and I’ll be head chef.”
“That would explain the knife,” Griff replied, his voice deadpan.
The beans went into the pot along with some herbs I didn’t recognize. Bishop sliced a smoked sausage into neat rounds. Nox chopped onions with more enthusiasm than skill, and Eamon quietly corrected him by nudging the cutting board a fraction to the left.
“Like this,” Eamon said. “You’ll be less likely to cut off a finger this way.”
“You always ruin all my fun,” Nox replied with a grin, but he complied.
Elias hovered near me, one hand resting on the back of my chair.
“You’ve been holding things together all day,” he murmured. “Let us take care of you.”
I didn’t argue. I leaned back slightly, letting his knuckles brush my shoulder, and felt the tension drain a notch.
Everyone relaxed in silence while the pot simmered. After a good hour, Griff set out bowls and bread, tearing the loaf with his hands and arranging the pieces like he’d done it a hundred times. The fire popped and crackled, the room warming until I could finally shrug out of my coat.
Bishop brought the bowls over, placing one in front of me first. “Eat,” he said simply.
I did.
The food was perfect. The beans were soft and savory, the sausage smoky, the broth rich enough to make my eyes close for a second. Across the table, Nox watched my reaction with a grin.
“See?” he said. “Domestic bliss.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I replied. “We’re still in London.”
“Even better,” he quipped. “Adds some extra spice.”
Eamon sat beside me, checking my posture with a glance. “Drink some water,” he reminded, sliding a cup closer.
“Yes, Doctor,” I smirked.
He smiled anyway.
When I finished, Griff reached for my empty bowl without comment and took it to the sink. Nox leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, satisfied. Bishop wiped down the table, and Eamon set the leftovers aside for later.
I realized then how rare it was, how long it had been since I’d sat still while someone else made sure that I was taken care of.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
They all looked at me like it was obvious.
Elias gently squeezed my shoulder. “Anytime.”
CHAPTER 23
One week later…
Nox
We’d been in the safehouse long enough for the neighborhood to forget our faces. Long enough for my face to become another face in a city full of them, and for our footsteps to blend into the same steady grind as everyone else’s.
Which was kind of the point.
Mirae’s place sat next to a shuttered dye shop on a narrow lane that smelled like damp cloth, tannins, and old oil because it was still operating in secret. It was on the sort of street where people didn’t make eye contact because eye contact invited questions, and questions invited inspections.
I liked it.
