ELIAS
I watched her leave the kitchen with hurried steps, her cloak brushing against the doorframe as she slipped into the back of the house. She didn’t look back.
Meanwhile, this Calista girl was still pressed far too close to me, rubbing my arm like she was trying to polish it to a shine.
I glanced at her hand, then back at the food in front of me.
It was good. That surprised exclamation earlier wasn’t some polite reaction. I genuinely hadn’t eaten anything like this. Or maybe my mom was just a really bad cook.
Even with scarce ingredients, she managed to make it taste warm and filling. Someone who cooked like that didn’t fit the version that Calista was trying to paint.
I speared another piece of meat, chewing slowly as my mind drifted back to earlier that morning.
I had been
