Jack’s POV
The smell of something sweet and warm reached me before I stepped into the kitchen. It was… unexpected. This house hadn’t smelled like anything but firewood, leather, and steel in years.
Jennifer stood at the counter, hair tied back in the laziest knot, sleeves pushed high on her arms, humming softly to herself as though the silence of these walls didn’t choke her the way it did me. A bowl sat in front of her, filled with a pale, lumpy mess she seemed proud of.
“Waffles,” she said when she noticed me, eyes bright.
I leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. “That’s not how you make them.”
Her head snapped up. “Excuse me?”
I nodded at the bowl. “You’re not supposed to beat it that hard. You’re killing it.”
“I’m not killing anything,” she shot back, cheeks coloring. “It’s
