Chad Woods
The next morning
I lean against the kitchen doorframe, arms crossed, watching Marina hum as she cooks. The sound of sizzling butter and the faint scent of rosemary fill the air. She’s too focused on her task to notice me right away.
“Who’s all that for?” I ask casually, pretending curiosity as I stroll closer. “Everyone else already ate.”
She glances back, startled. “It’s for Mr. and Mrs. Woods,” she says, smiling politely.
Mr. and Mrs. Woods.
That’s how she calls them now—Kael and Amy. The thought makes my jaw tighten.
I nod, keeping my tone light. “Ah, okay. Would you mind checking if Clide’s finished his plate from earlier? I think he left it in his room again.”
Marina wipes her hands on a towel, nods, and walks out without question. Perfect.
The second she’s gone, I
